Take a Chance
by sweetdreams-sunnymornings
Summary: Can R & S admit they're in love? Can Steph accept Ranger's job and let him go? Will he come back safely? Back to the beginnings in my Mercenary Ranger/Plum world. R&S's love story. Morelli appears only briefly, unpleasant but unharmed. Babe. HEA COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Take a Chance**

**.**

All standard fanfiction disclaimers apply for entire story.

.

a/n This is the story of **Mercenary Ranger and Stephanie**, at the beginning, when they finally realize they have fallen in love. It takes place a year and a half before The Math Teacher. The Price is Right and Jane's Dilemma happen a few years after that. The Concert takes place earlier during the summer of the flashback.

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><p><strong>Take A Chance <strong>

**.**

**.**

**Prolog: Offensive Maneuvers **

**. **

**_[Ranger]_**

**_._ **

"**It's just a job." **

"It is so NOT just a job. It is almost certain death."

"It's my job, Anthony."

"Shit, Ranger, all our lives you been running towards the apocalypse, sounding like some comic book hero, trying to bullshit your way into an early grave while babbling about _It's my fuckin' job."_

I looked up from checking my weapons duffle, turned and stared at my half-brother Anthony Stewart. Long monolog even for him. I said, "I am fairly certain that I do not babble."

He narrowed his eyes at me and raised a brow. The _look_ was really annoying_— no wonder it pissed Stephanie off,_ I thought. And stifled a smile. Antonio looked exactly like me only—um—cuter. You know, the blond dreadlocks, the surfer gear….

Feigning unconcern, I said, "Rangeman takes the suicide jobs, bro. That's what we get paid for."

Anthony said, "Yeah but the jobs aren't really suicide jobs. Usually. Sure they're dangerous but mostly the military hires you because no matter how much you charge, it's cheaper for them, both financially and personnel-wise, read "public opinion"—to hire an outside mercenary. If you fail, it's not their fault." He considered that and, sliding effortlessly from analytical to stoner mode, added, "Sort of…." He shrugged. "Like, the buck stops with you."

"Exactly. It _is_ my job, it's why I get the big bucks."

"Difference is—this time you won't be coming home to spend your big bucks. No new Porsche for Carlos Manoso or whoever the hell you're pretending to be this week. Just a flag and a grave. If you're lucky."

I said, "Prob'ly not a flag."

Anthony said, "I am not amused."

"You know what they say." I shoved a couple clean t-shirts in beside my rifle, zipped the duffle closed.

Anthony said, "What?"

"The best defense is a good offense."

Anthony tilted his head at me and frowned. "You got that wrong, man."

"Or," I went on, "in this instance, the best offense is a good defense."

Anthony shook his head sadly. "Yeah, okay, have it your way. Can you say "bullshit", _bro_? Yeah I knew you could."

I secured my weapons case and hefted it into the waiting helicopter.

I said, "See you on the other side." _I love you._

"Yeah….." _I love you too._

Our eyes locked for long moments. Finally I said, "Take care of Steph if she needs...anything."

"Nope. Can't. Sorry."

I didn't need this. I fought the sudden shock of his refusal.

I said, "Why…?"

Anthony sighed and shoved past me, hefted his own weapons bags. "Ranger. I'm going with. I'll take care of _you_. For them. For me. For all of us. Just give me a few days, okay?" He had been wounded only a few days ago...

I said, "But it's a suicide job." _I certainly didn't want __him to die! _

"Yeah, yeah. Now you know how I feel, whadda they call it? —empathize. You can fucking _empathize_. "

With Antonio at my back there was a chance. Tiny, but—there. A ray of hope, a _maybe_. I said, "I'll be in touch. Stand by..."

I turned back and kissed Steph. One last time.

... ... ...

**Chapter One: If a Kiss is Just a Kiss, a Smile is Just a Smile...**

_a few days earlier..._

_._

_[Stephanie]_

_._

**Another Saturday morning in Trenton.** It was early November and the air was as clear and bright as it ever gets. Okay, not very, but it was nice—autumn in the air and all that. I stopped by my parents' house on my way to the bonds office. Valerie's kids were screaming, mom was ironing, and grandma and dad were watching CNN. I poured myself some coffee and sat at the kitchen table with Val. Val was doing some awful glittery project for the girls to take to their Brownies meeting. Don't ask me why Val was doing all the work, no idea. Do _not_ want to know.

I could hear dad grumbling at the newscaster who was droning on about a hostage crisis in the Middle East. An American diplomat and his family, including young children, had been kidnapped and were being threatened by Islamist insurgents. This story had been unfolding it seemed like forever. It was sad and scary.

Dad launched into his usual rant, "So send in the troops, send in the Army. What're those guys doing over there anyway?"

Mom chimed in, "How awful! That poor woman, having those crazy people threatening her children!" Valerie looked at me pointedly. I guess mom knows firsthand about being a scared parent, but the hostage situation seemed worse than anything I had ever been involved in. I drained my mug and stood up. said, "Enough with the bad news. I gotta go. People to see. Lowlifes to capture. Bye!"

Only Grandma waved me out the door.

I was glad to escape. Coffee and pastry just couldn't make up for all that commotion. As I drove away I checked my cell messages. One message from Ranger.

_Call me._

Forget the hands off crap and Bluetooth, like my POS has an integrated phone? I hit number one on my cell speed dial and was surprised when Ranger picked up. He usually lets it go to voice mail or text message or I have to page him and wait for his call back.

The infamous _Yo._

I said, "Yo yourself."

"Are you busy today or can you get away for the afternoon?"

"I could get away if you need me for something."

Ranger is my sometimes boss and my maybe boyfriend….

"I'll meet you at your place in a half hour, dress casual. It isn't work.

"So does that mean it's pleasure?" I said to a dead phone because of course he had already hung up.

...

I ran home, checked my hair, checked my makeup and changed into a short denim skirt and low boots. Stretchy V-neck tee shirt on top, grey hoodie in my big Coach bag just in case it got colder. Sunglasses. Spritz of perfume. Gun left in cookie jar. Because Ranger said _Not Business. And, well, just — because?_

I ran outside and met Ranger at his car. _Road trip?_ I wondered. He was driving a new Mercedes sedan today. The car silently screamed luxury and comfort.

And, oh yeah. Ranger—his clothes definitely _not work_. He was looking yummy if unfamiliar in faded jeans, black work boots, and black cashmere sweater over a white tee. Black leather jacket on top, hiding his guns no doubt. High tech black mirrored sunglasses that only partially obscured his gorgeous face. He pulled me to him and kissed me. Heat flashed through me and I instantly forgot not only my name but his too. In seconds I was _this close_ to experiencing a Ranger-induced orgasm. I just wanted to find a horizontal spot somewhere, anywhere, hopefully without an audience. But he set me aside, opening the car door for me. His nice manners never failed him. Unless he wanted them to.

"Babe."

I was unsure of his mood. Sometimes it's not a good idea to tease Batman and he was looking a little serious today. Well even more serious than usual. He had made a life study of Not Smiling because when he really smiled, all thousand watts, people actually walked into walls. It was a mystery to me why he wasn't a GQ model or a movie star. He was _that_ hot. And all mine. Or if not all mine, then sort of mine. We've been together for about four months, not definite, not committed but I trust Ranger. He wouldn't be with other women when he was with me. And he was. Is.

So instead of being smartass, saying _Yo, dude! _I said, "Hey."

He went to his side of the car, shrugging off his black leather jacket and tossing it into the back seat. Under the jacket he was wearing a double shoulder holster, with a Glock 9mm semiautomatic under each armpit. Didn't look comfy to me. He took off the shoulder holster, removed one gun that he put in the small of his back. (Still not comfy!) The other gun went on the floor behind my seat where he could easily reach it if needed. Probably the car also had a sawed-off shotgun and maybe an assault rifle hidden somewhere, plus the usual under the front seat gun. Ranger liked his cars new, black, expensive and well-prepared. Probably he wouldn't need the firepower on a nice day in Trenton but he was who he is and he's with me, so who knew.

"We're going to the beach, okay, babe?"

"Sure."

I didn't ask which beach. And I noticed that he said _the beach_, not _the shore_. I'd figured out during the Ramos case that Ranger was probably not from New Jersey. If he was raised in Jersey he'd always say the _shore_, not the _beach_. Ranger only used the phrase _shore_ when speaking specifically about the Jersey Shore. Like Ranger might say _Vinnie owns a house at the Jersey Shore_. Of course most guys you could just ask them but not Ranger. He liked his secrets.

He also liked to drive and almost immediately drifted into his Zone. He had hip hop going on the sound system, a little heavy on the bass. God only knows how this vehicle got its music, maybe it piped it in from Mars? No conversation as we headed through Perth Amboy then Staten Island, over the Verrazano Bridge into Brooklyn. We skirted the edge of the borough as we headed east. I guessed we were going to the beach house that belonged to his friend Jilly. Jilly was married to a really hot guy that I thought had to be Ranger's brother, but again-not sure. Mr. Mystery. And his brother.

The drive took about 90 minutes. The tiny Long Island town where Jilly and friends spent summer weekends was empty and silent on an autumn afternoon. Ranger and I had had an earthshaking, wonderful weekend here last summer. This was where I'd finally found the courage to go to him and be with him. It was amazing. This place held beautiful memories. I wondered though why we'd driven all this way. There are nice beaches in Jersey, not even crowded in November, though maybe not as awesomely silent and serene as this place.

This wasn't the first time he brought me to this beach. I leaned my head back against the leather headrest and remembered...

.

tbc

Thank you for reading/ reviewing!


	2. Chapter 2

_**Take a Chance **_

_**Chapter Two - Risky Business**_

_**.**_

_[Ranger]_

I concentrated on the roads to New York and refused to let myself think about...things? The future? Or _what if?_

Stephanie fell uncharacteristically silent, probably remembering other beach days, other road trips. Steph isn't the only one who can reminisce. My innermost thoughts drifted back...

...

_a few years ago..._

**I lie on the hot adobe roof**, sighting through my rifle scope. As the day progresses, the sun has shifted enough to cast a tiny, useless bit of shade from the roof's low parapet across my face and forearms. But it is still hotter than hell in this no-name third world country, some "P" name—Paraguay, Peru, Panama…..uh, Pakistan?

Or is this a 'stan? You know, A-stan, U-stan, K-stan. P-stan.

Of course I really do know exactly where I am and exactly who the General is that is my target today. I am just goofing with myself, anything to alleviate the boredom.

I look again through my sniper rifle lens. The rifle itself is a matte, plain, nothing color, sort of cammo tan, instead of the usual matte black because black guns soak up too much heat and are not as accurate. My target is a lectern on a raised viewing stand, maybe 1000 meters away from my rooftop hiding place. The general is due in about an hour, he is going to announce that he and his minions have overwhelmed the current government and are taking over.

Or maybe _not_.

Probably it will be the shortest reign by a loud-mouthed idiot in recent history. I have my money and my orders, _no problemo_.

And, yeah—about those orders... Attached to the government contract couriered to me at Rangeman two days ago, the estimated risk level for this op is _easy to moderate_. Uh huh. The last time I took a moderate risk for Uncle Sam I was captured and tortured for two days before I escaped, finished the op and got home safely.

But still...I keep taking these contracts and doing the job I'd been trained for all these years. The money is excellent, and keeping the free world safe is a bonus. And I am very, very good at this kind of work. Just like shooting coconuts on the beach back at my grandparents' home in Florida, bang-bang. _Ka-ching, $$$$$$. _

I _am_ a mercenary, after all. Without the _ka-ching_ factor there'd be no bang-bang. And you know, my coloring, my looks—after an op I can just fade into the populace, pass for one of their own. Tonight I will blend into the horrified, avid throngs, apparently a citizen of this crummy town. I am good at language and accents, I'll change my Spanish to sound like a native, hiding the upper crust Havana accent that I'd picked up learning Spanish from my family. Then I'll rent or buy a 4-wheel drive vehicle and drive home or at least to an airport in another country.

I look again, no action on the dais. I wonder how things are going back home in Jersey. Funny that I now think of Trenton as home, well, anywhere Steph is—that's home.

Look at me here, sniper at large, assassin extraordinaire; mercenary for hire, even if I only take jobs from the US government's array of alphabet agencies. What can I possibly offer to a woman like Steph? Much as I love her, she's as white bread as they come. But I do love her….

I love her. I loved her the day we met.

So, let's say I tell her and we get together for real, maybe even get married someday. The warmth in my chest when I think about marrying Stephanie makes me squirm. But I am not a man who deludes himself and I know we'd go down that road, marriage, babies, house in—please, God, NOT the Burg! Princeton, maybe? Or Deal, near Alexander's pink behemoth of a villa? Steph loves the beach….

And then of course we'd have kids, let's not fool ourselves. I am willing to bet my millions that by age thirty-five Steph would be all about the nesting thing. Even if she kept her unconventional job, she'll want a baby. Or two, or three.

_(sigh)_

Can't you just see a cute little kid with her eyes and hopefully my hair? And can't you just picture Career Day at the Elementary school: _What does __your__ daddy do? He's a doctor, he's a plumber, he's a cop. What about you, Baby Manoso? Well my dad is a black ops assassin._

Real conversation ender, right? Could I go straight, even for Stephanie and Julie and a baby or two? Would Steph want me to, would the government allow it?

Or just kill me….?

Speaking of which, my mark just strutted up the steps to the platform. He stands in front of the podium, the flags of this unknown city and country flying bright behind his head. I disregard the flags' movements and sight calmly. I squeeze the rifle trigger, once.

Again.

_Ka-ching._

...

_Of course_, I thought, as we crossed yet another lightly trafficked bridge, _that was then—years ago._ _And this is now._ I glanced at Stephanie, still lost in her own thoughts. Or asleep?

**_tbc_**

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><p>an a version of this chapter (only) appeared online as a short/ one-shot, a long time ago.


	3. Chapter 3

**Take a Chance**

**.**

**Chapter Two: Army Buddies**

**.**

_[Stephanie]_

_I leaned my head back against the leather headrest and remembered..._

**I had been working for Rangeman all summer.** And let me tell you—NOTHING was happening with me and Ranger. Oh sure, he flirted a lot but that was all. I was so done with Morelli and here I was just waiting for Ranger to stroll in and ruin me for all other men. Of course—been there / done that. But I was definitely up for "doing it" again. Meanwhile Ranger was in politically correct boss mode—with benefits. Are you confused? Me, too.

My name is Stephanie Plum. Welcome to my not so wonderful life.

Ranger stopped by my cubby on a Tuesday afternoon, late August.

"Babe."

"Ranger."

"Be here tomorrow at 9, we have a job."

"Ranger, I'm always here at 9." _Well, 9-ish._

He smiled and disappeared.

... ... ...

**Wednesday morning when I arrived**, there he was—taking up way too much space in my cubby and looking too delectable for words. How could one human being look so good? Ranger was—_sigh—_perfect.

He stared at me. "Need a donut?"

"Uh…."

"Babe."

"What's up, Ranger?"

Little did I know that this was the first day of the rest of my life! And yeah—he makes me so incoherent I'm talking in clichés, big time. It's a miracle I can talk at all, the man is so hot.

Ranger looked at me curiously. His mouth turned up in his minimalist smile. He knows I want him, all women do. He's spoiled.

He said, "An Army buddy of mine is coming in later today. I had some work done on my friend's car. We gotta pick the car up and do the airport pick-up. I need you to come and be the extra driver."

Well okay but this sounded like a Tank and Ranger project, not a Blow 'em Up Stephanie project. But he's the boss so I said, "Okay," and got my purse.

We got in Ranger's Porsche 911 Turbo and sped off. We were heading northeast. I had no idea where. We circled by Manhattan and were headed out the LIE. Thank god we were driving against rush hour traffic or we might still be sitting there on the Long Island Expressway. Only LA has worse traffic than NYC. After awhile, quite a long while, we pulled into a Mercedes dealer on Northern Boulevard in Manhasset. We got out and Ranger went into the work office. I followed. A guy in a Mercedes golf shirt greeted Ranger by name, if we can call Mr. Manoso his name. Not how I think of Ranger, but what the hell.

The guy nodded to Ranger and said, "The work is all done. It should be exactly what Colonel Stewart wanted. But of course we can make any changes that are required."

I gathered that the Mercedes dealer had sent the car out for some kind of custom work. Ranger always had a lot of custom goodies added to his own cars—gun safes, shackle rings, bulletproof glass, some strategic light armoring and so on. I still managed to destroy them.

Ranger signed a clipboard and took a couple sets of keys. We went outside into the hot August sun. Moments later a big new shiny _not-black_ Mercedes SUV was delivered to us. Like valet parking. And yes, Ranger tipped the guy. The SUV was huge. It had blacked out windows and a grille guard, roof racks for surfboards or skis on the top. But the real custom work was inside the trunk. Ranger lifted the tailgate and pulled up the carpet. Underneath was a keypad secured gun safe. Ranger nodded. He said to me, "You drive. Follow me."

"Sure." I hid my grin. Because I got it now. Ranger and Tank couldn't drive this car because—omigod—it is silver! I stifled my mirth but Ranger gave me a sharp glance.

I trailed Ranger back on the LIE the across the GW Bridge to Northern Jersey. I wasn't exactly lost but I was confused. I had expected us to go to a NY airport, either LaGuardia or JFK, but no. This also was not the way to the big international airport at Newark.

After an hour or so we drove into Teterboro Airport in North Jersey. Teterboro caters to private jets and helicopters, also small planes. No regular scheduled commercial flights. I trailed Ranger's Porsche through various security checkpoints. He seemed to be well-known here. We ended up in an area that was cordoned off and marked Military Personnel Only. Ranger again stopped and the guy at the booth saluted. I was waved through after Ranger's Porsche, did not even have to stop. We pulled up right on a runway. A Gulfstream 5 just was taxiing towards us and stopped as we parked.

The big jet was painted Air Force dark blue but no military markings. I thought maybe was used for top brass types. I wondered where Ranger's friend would turn up, part of the crew or hitched a ride?

The jet stopped and the stairs came down. Ranger got out and leaned on his car. I went over and stood next to him. The plane's doors opened and out came—Barbie! Yeah, like a real live Barbie doll. Not even Military Barbie. This was Bimbo Barbie. PopTart Barbie.

The girl who paused at the top of the stairs was tall, very slim, very blonde. She wore low-rise khaki silk cargo pants, an embroidered white tank top over an olive tank top. Mirrored sunglasses. High heeled sandals. Lots of big, exotic turquoise jewelry at her wrists and around her neck. She was beautiful, like a supermodel.

She had long straight pale blonde hair cut a bit chunky. She was tan. She had a perfect French manicure. She had a 5 inch gap of tanned tummy between her pants waistband and her t-shirt hems. The perfectly toned tummy had a tattoo and a diamond belly button stud. She definitely was wearing no bra.

While I was absorbing all this, she had descended the steps and was running towards us. She got close to Ranger and launched herself into his arms, shrieking, "Ricky! Ricky! You made it, babe, how are you, what's up?"

He caught her in his arms and she wrapped her legs around his waist. She was almost as tall as Ranger in her high heels but he caught her easily and twirled her around.

They kissed. Each cheek, no lips…..

Omigod. I am such a dope. No wonder Ranger was not interested in me. Was this his girlfriend? Where was his army buddy?

Ranger let her slide down his body and said, "You keep calling me Ricky and I'm gonna shoot you."

"Pooh! You'd never! Uh, not that I'm not happy you're here but where's—?"

"I'll explain later."

"But..."

Ranger dangled the Mercedes remote and said, "The guy at the car dealership said all the options should be just what _Colonel Stewart_ required.''

''So?''

''So—not real low-profile, lady. This is a vehicle that will get noticed."

"Dude, must I reiterate? Pooh!"

"It's an upscale mom-van," said Ranger. "With pimp windows and a gun rack."

"Well, shit..." she replied. The girl was getting pissed. "Mom-van?"

I hid my grin.

Ranger told her, "_Soccer_ mom van."

"Fuck."

A soldier, or whatever air force guys are called, had unloaded a bag, a long leather case and set it by the woman's side. She said thank you and the guy did the attention and salute thing. To _her!_ And then to Ranger! Both nodded back, but neither saluted.

The girl said, "Thank you. That will be all." She spoke quite formally.

Ranger took her arm and drew her over to me. He said, "Jilly, this is Stephanie. Babe, this is Julianne Stewart, my old unit's chopper pilot."

"Call me Jilly!" the girl said and instead of shaking my offered hand she grabbed me for a tight happy hug and kissed me on both cheeks.

I said, "Julie?" because I was sure Ranger had said her name as Julie Ann—when he wasn't talking "street" his diction was too precise for me to mistake it.

She shrugged and said, "No, no, it's Jilly, like you know _Jack and Jill went up the hill_?—Don't mind Ranger, no one calls me Julianne, I'd sound like a ham."

Ranger and I both said, "What?"

She said, "You know, like chef salad? The little strippy things?"

Silence.

Ranger finally said, "So how was—?"

Jilly said, "Hot, dusty. Stinky. What a hellhole. No wonder those people get cranky."

He looked at her and smiled.

She grinned back and said, "Dude, where's my car?"

I handed her the second set of keys and she scampered off to inspect the Mercedes SUV.

''It's real pretty. Do you think I shoulda got a Hummer? Or a Cayenne? Would that be less mommy-ish?''

Ranger said, "You've driven a Humvee, Jilly. I don't think you'd want to own one. And a Cayenne wasn't big enough. It was this or a Yukon."

"Eeew." She shook her long blond hair back. "Okay. So, yeah this is good. Glad you got the roof racks—thanks sooooo much, baby."

Ranger said to me, "Jilly is gonna stay in Jersey for a day or two..."

"I am?"

"...to help us with some computer stuff because my usual tech man is offline."

"He is?" squeaked Jilly.

"I'll explain later."

"Is he okay? This is my baby brother you're talking about, mister!"

Ranger ignored her said to me, "She'll be at the Sheraton. I thought you could go there with her, get her settled in, then come to the Haywood office. She's not from Jersey, so it would be useful if you help her find her way around."

Jilly was standing behind him, and I caught her eye roll, _as if_. She mouthed "GPS" because of course her new car had all the best upgrades including state of the art Global Positioning.

But it's not up to me to question Ranger so I just said, "If that's what Jilly wants I'm happy to do it."

A tiny nod. He turned to Jilly and said, "I got you some things since you've been away and aren't heading home first. You can see what I got for you and go shopping later or tomorrow if you need to."

Jilly was looking a little thundercloud behind her Miss America smile. She said, "Can we have a word, Rick?"

She grabbed his bicep and towed him across the little runway, backed him up against his Porsche and got in his face. Ranger did the universal male not-my-fault hands up gesture and she backed off an inch. He calmly told her something and she listened with her head turned away, towards the open airfield. Finally she nodded. He straightened up and they hugged. He gave her a couple of shopping bags and walked her back to where I waited.

We got in the SUV and Ranger leaned into my open window. He said, "Call me when you get settled and I'll come get you."

He brushed a kiss across my half-open mouth and got into his Porsche. And was gone. The blonde and I sat there looking after him.

Finally she said, "I guess he's got an agenda…."

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

**Take a Chance **

**.**

a/n Thanks to everyone who read & reviewed!

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><p><strong>Chapter Four: She <strong>_**Said**_**...**

**.**

_[still Stephanie pov]_

_"Guess he has an agenda, " said Jilly as we watched the sleek black Porsche drive away._

**I looked at her and she did a great eye roll and grinned**. I was starting to like this girl. Amazingly she didn't seem awed by Ranger.

I said, "Ranger always has an agenda." I added, "Are you Colonel Stewart?"

She said, "Yeah…it's Lieutenant Colonel, actually."

"Were you Ranger's commanding officer?"

She laughed. "Omigod. Hardly! No way! Plus, you know, he is—was—is...sort of, uh, Army. Can you look in the bags and see what our boy bought me?"

Huh. I noted the unsubtle subject change and was annoyed but I rummaged. "Okay, we have...jeans..." I told her the brand. She nodded. I did not add that they cost almost three hundred dollars and were size 2. "...cargo shorts, a couple tee shirts. Tank tops, flip flops?" She nodded agreeably again . I opened the Bloomingdale's bag. "Chanel tinted moisturizer. Kiehl's hair products. Perfume. Underwear...from Victoria's Secret?" My voice trailed away.

Jilly watched the traffic and the GPS, mumbled, "Mmm-hmmm...".

I sat there in shocked silence, thinking, _Ranger bought this woman perfume! He bought her lingerie from Victoria's Secret! He-spent a LOT of money!_

Jilly noticed I'd gone silent and said, "What?"

"Uh…"

"C'mon. What's wrong? You're not car sick, are you?"

''No! I'm trying to picture Ranger shopping for you at Victoria's Secret."

She laughed again. "He probably just had Ella or someone call and get my usual, it's no big deal."

"Perfume seems like a big deal to me," I said, meaning to be talking to myself.

But she heard me and said, "Well, Ranger's a sweetheart and he knows what it's like where I've been the past few weeks. My own favorite perfume will be great. He didn't get some important things though. Swimsuits! Purses. Shoes."

I looked in the bags again. At the bottom was a note in Ranger's neat handwriting. It said: _Coach Hamptons tote in the backseat. Cell phones/ sat phone/ beepers/ guns inside. x R_

I read it out loud.

Jilly squealed and rooted around, with her free hand. She pulled out a striped canvas and leather Coach bag, said, "He's gonna make someone a great husband someday!"

_I_ was thinking, _He signed the note with kisses!_ I was depressed.

Jilly swerved across three lanes of heavy traffic and pulled into a rest area. She stuck her hand in the bag, pulled out a cell phone, then another two, one presumably satellite enabled. Two guns, a SigSauer like I had and a different 9 mm. She showed it to me,said, "Beretta. Small and light."

She checked the clips, loaded of course. Ranger saw no point in an unloaded gun. She put the Beretta into her cargo pants pocket and the Sig back in the purse. The cell phones got tossed in with the gun. Holding the third phone, she examined the screen, pressed a speed dial, left voice message: _Hi I'm home and you're not. Where are you? Love you._

Then she poked the nav system touch screen, glared at the extra phone, then heaved a big sigh. "Shit. Shouldn't the phone-one of these phones? work on the nav sys? I'll have to fix the Bluetooth thingy later." Jilly quickly examined the other items: beeper onto visor, lip-gloss. Hairbrush. Palm Pilot. Extra keys. "God, he is so fucking efficient. The mind boggles. Do you find him exhausting?''

''What do you mean? Ranger's a good boss.''

''Not just a boss though, right?'' We went screaming back into traffic. She drove the big SUV like it was a sports car. And way too fast.

I said, "Well, I consider Ranger a friend."

She smiled "Yeah. Me too.''

She continued after a bit of silence. "Maybe tomorrow we can sneak out and do some shopping? I'd love to just relax and have some fun? Please say you'll come. Bring your friend Lula?"

_How do you know about Lula?_

We pulled into the Sheraton driveway, the valet took her car. She rummaged in the bag Ranger had given her and came up with a wad of cash. She gave the valet $100 bill.

Jilly sighed, "Soooo efficient."

At the desk we were greeted with great enthusiasm and the key handed over with no paperwork required. Jilly wiggled her eyebrows at me, referring to the Ranger efficiency at work again.

We entered her suite, big, tasteful.

Jilly said, "I gotta eat! And shower, okay?"

"Sure. I can order room service. You go shower.''

''Awesome. Get me a burger, rare, with swiss and mushrooms, no bun and extra fries and some kinda sparkling water, like Pellegrino, please.''

I leaned over the mini fridge and opened it. Yep. All stocked with cold mineral water. We both smiled. I took two, handed her one.

She rummaged through the bags for her new toiletries and disappeared. By the time she emerged the food had arrived. We sat on the hotel balcony and ate in silence. Jilly seemed subdued now. Finally she said, "I'm just gonna put my feet up for a sec, okay? I've been up for about thirty-six hours. Jet lag, you know.''

She flopped onto the bed and was sound asleep before her head hit the pillow. After a minute I reached down and pulled the blankets out from under her unconscious form. I covered her up and sat down to wait, dozing off too in seconds.

I was awakened by the entrance of Ranger who walked in and opened the blinds. I whispered to him, "She's exhausted! Let her sleep?"

Ranger said, "We've got work to do."

And he walked over to Jilly saying, not loudly but firmly, "Jilly, you gotta be on deck in ten minutes. Up and at 'em. Rise and shine, princess.''

Jilly woke up instantly and totally, her military training at work. I'd have cursed him out and covered my head with the pillows but she smiled at him and said, "Hey."

"Yo."

"Thanks for all the great clothes, sweetie. I really appreciate it."

"Here's your..." He handed her a manila envelope. She shook out the contents, a black velvet case. A small pile of glittering jewelry was in the box. She put on diamond earrings, solitaire studs about two carats each. A platinum and diamond watch, a Rolex it looked like. And a platinum chain with a charm on it. Ranger took it from her and fastened it around her neck.

"Thanks." She shook the bag and looked inside. "Where's my….?"

"Your other things were at a different place. I'll have them for you later."

She sighed. ''Okay. You know this isn't really your job."

"My pleasure."

... ... ...

We went back to the office. I got my belongings to leave for the day. Jilly was already at the computer center, typing madly. Lester was watching closely as were some of the other tech people. Okay maybe their eyes were on Jilly's chest (no bra! at Rangeman!) not on her computer screen; the guys are well-trained but they're not brain dead. Ranger wasn't around. I stopped to say goodbye and gave her my numbers.

"Call me if you need anything or if we can go shopping tomorrow."

She looked up and smiled. I glanced at the computer screen. I could swear she was hacking into a Department of Defense site. Surely not!

Jilly called me later that night. "Okay. We're on for tomorrow. Bring your friend Lula! I've heard so much about her. I'll pick you up at Vinnie's at 11!"

"Do you know Vinnie?" I asked.

"Lucky me."

... ...

**We were wiped out, all three of us.** It was official, we shopped til we dropped. At 5 PM the next day we collapsed onto the beds in Jilly's hotel room. She ordered snacks and fruit-flavored martinis. Lula looked at her and apropos of _nothing_ said, "So are you here to take Batman away from Steph?"

"Lula!" I squeaked.

Jilly looked faintly surprised and said, "No. No way…."

Lula interrupted, "What? You don't think he's hot? And what about that biological clock ticking, girl? Don't you wanna get married and have babies and all that? Don't you ever think about it—someday you'll be thirty? What's with that?"

Jilly sat up and stared at Lula. Her eyes were light golden like a tiger's. I shivered a bit. Then she grinned, her shit-eating Miss America smile. She said, "I don't need your Batman! I have one of my very own. And I'm already thirty and married and have kids. I though you knew…."

She wiggled her fingers, displaying the diamond rings—her "things" she was wanting earlier—that Ranger had delivered to her when we got to Haywood last night. They were so extravagant I hadn't realized they were real let alone a wedding ring set. Now Lula and I looked closer and I saw that they were platinum and diamonds, a huge heart-shaped central stone on a band of channel set large diamonds and a similar band of just diamonds. The heart-shaped diamond was as big as a grape, I thought. No wonder Ranger had kept them in a safe for her.

Lula and I just looked at her.

Finally I said, "You're thirty years old."

"Yes! Since November…Big 3-0h."

"Kids?"

Jilly rummaged in the Coach bag, finally pulled out a silver photo case about the size of a paperback book. She opened it and handed it to us.

Inside were two photos. One was of a pair of adorable little kids, blond angels. Just babies, really. The other was a shocker. Taken on a beach somewhere: Three very young men in dark jungle camouflage cargo shorts and Oakley sunglasses. Three gorgeous men. Big assault guns in their hands. One man with blond hair in little, funky dreadlocks. The other two men had long dark hair pulled back and braided, sides buzzed short. They were all smiling. Smiling versions of Ranger's million dollar, megawatt smile.

The blond guy was unfamiliar. The two dark haired men were Ranger.

_Huh? _Ranger and someone who looked a heck of a lot like him?

The three men were bare-chested and dark skinned. The blond boy had a tattooed stomach and a belly jewel. All three wore diamond stud earrings, rap star style.

Finally she said, tapping the photo of the kids, "My son Jake and daughter ZaZa, uh, Izabelle." The others, she indicated,"—My brother Anthony." (the blond boy) "Ranger, in the center. My husband, Nick. Aren't they adorable! It's an old photo but it's my fave. Yum!"

"Wow," Lula and I both said.

Jilly tucked the photos back in her bag. She appeared to be thinking deeply, then she leaned close and said, "Okay...so, now, here's the plan."

_Oh boy, a plan!_

_**tbc**_


	5. Chapters 5 and 6

**Take a Chance ~ **

**.**

**Chapter Five: The Plan**

**.**

_[Steph pov, back in the summer]_

_**.**_

_**Jilly said gleefully,**__ "I have a plan!"_

_... ..._

_It's the heart afraid of breaking - that never learns to dance_

_It's the dream afraid of waking - that never takes a chance_

_It's the one who can't be taken who never learns to give_

_And the soul afraid of dying that never learns to live_

_When the night has been too lonely _

_And it seems the road's too long_

_and you think that love is only_

_for the lucky and the strong…. _

_**Bette Midler The Rose**_

_**.**_

_... ... ..._

**Hot summer night at the beach—**warm breeze; full moon rising; sun-hot turquoise swimming pool; frozen margaritas and scented candles; me and Ranger…

A lull in the continuum of time, in the pattern of our lives….

Jilly's plan? I still wasn't sure—Jilly didn't seem to be interested in deep, convoluted plans and ulterior motives. When I came to know her I understood that she is possibly more complex than she seems, but that weekend Jilly was all about a good time and a party. She dragged me and Lula out to her beach house for the weekend. Along with a very amenable Tank and an inscrutably neutral Ranger. If Ranger had objections, he didn't make them known. Jilly assumed the role of everyone's big sister, bossy, glamorous, a little bit wild.

On the road I asked her, "Will your children be there? You must miss them?"

She nodded a little but said, "My mother took them up to Nantucket for a couple weeks—she has a house there—'cos we weren't sure when I'd be home...and my husband was away too."

"He was?" I wondered if her Ranger-clone husband was in a similar line of work, not Rangeman, but—_in the wind_ stuff.

She looked over at me and finally said, "He was in Zurich on business."

"Zurich, New Jersey?" asked Lula from the backseat.

Jilly smiled into the rearview mirror. "Zurich, _Switzerland_."

As if that made it all so effin' clear. We drove. And drove.

We had arrived in the big silver Mercedes at dusk. Massive amounts of gourmet food appeared as if by magic. Now, after dinner, Jilly was getting in touch with her inner Bette Midler, singing old ballads. On the outside she had a Beyonce thing going—blond cornrows, tiny flouncy pink skirt, fuck-me stiletto sandals, bikini bra. She'd been shaking her booty like an MTV pro, singing and dancing with Nick. It was party time, fueled by tequila and sex and high spirits. Jilly had demanded center stage and no one could persuade her that it was a bad idea.

Nick said, "Songs from before we were born, no way, JillyBean, sweetheart….Please, no!" He was teasing her, egging her on.

Tank stood up and grabbed Lula's hand, saying, "Let's go for a walk." I had time to wonder if her singing was _that _bad and I caught the brief nod between Tank and Ranger. Permission? No, Ranger acknowledging that Tank was off-duty. Tank was making his escape.

I floated in the warm pool, sipping my third frozen margarita. Jilly had a sweet high voice, not trained but true. I realized a soft male voice was harmonizing with her on the final bars of _The Rose_, then they sang it again together, she and Nick. They were swaying in a loose embrace—even from the distance of half the pool, I could see how much he loved her. They kissed, his hands sliding up her slim tanned thighs and under the tiny pink ruffles. In his mirrored shades and diamond ear studs he looked just like Ranger. It was so weird, so disconcerting.

I sighed and turned away, swimming languidly to the far edge of the pool, where I leaned, looking out at the rising moon. After awhile, a minute? A year?— my dreamy margarita-induced haze was interrupted by Ranger himself, whose dark head emerged from the water beside me. He leaned close, the heat of his body instantly enveloping me even as the chlorine scented water rushed off his face and shoulders. We were standing in water that hit him mid-chest. Our eyes met. His lashes were wet and spiky, his eyes black and deep and intense.

More Bette Midler cried softly across the turquoise pool:

_Memories fill the corners of my mind_

_Misty watercolor memories…._

_Can it be that it was all so different then?_

_Or has time rewritten every line_

_If we had a chance to do it all again, _

_Would we? Could we?_

_... memories can be _

_beautiful and yet _

_be too painful to remember..._

_so it's the laughter we will remember, _

_Whenever we remember _

_The way we were…._

**Ranger gently caressed my mad curls** at my hairline, and then drew his finger slowly down my cheek to the corner of my mouth. He paused, almost hesitated, then bent his face to mine, tracing the line of my lower lip with his tongue. I pressed into him, and he kissed me, his kiss immediately deep and hungry and powerful. The night, the moon, the stars, all spun around me. As the kisses continued I felt his warm hands brush my breasts, then circle my nipples. He had untied and removed my bikini top. He raised his head and I arched naked in the moonlight, begging without words for his mouth to touch me, for him to find me beautiful.

"Refills, kiddies?" Jilly's laughing voice came from behind us. She had the margarita pitcher in hand. And she was grinning ear to ear. Ranger took the empty glass that I somehow still held and passed it up for a refill. Jilly filled the stemmed glass and set it on the edge of the pool.

"G'nite, guys!"

Ranger smiled at her and said, "Sweet dreams…."

She replied, "Be good, sweetheart." She leaned over and ruffled Ranger's hair, then dropped a kiss on the top of his head. She gave me another smile, sweet this time.

"Night, Steph."

I found my voice. "Good night."

Nick took her elbow and drew her away. Jilly was three inches taller than me and twenty pounds lighter. In her high heeled sandals she was as tall as the man beside her but tiny and slim. She teetered tipsily, and leaned into him; he turned and kissed her, lots of heat, and easily boosted her into his arms. The muscles of his arms and back rippled smoothly under his brown skin. She wrapped her legs around him and he carried her to the house.

I had ducked down to shoulder level in the water so my nakedness was hopefully less visible. Not that anyone seemed to care. Now I straightened up and turned to get the cocktail glass. I needed that margarita!

But Ranger reached out and gently removed it from my hand. When I started to protest he touched a finger to my lips to shush me.

"Wait, babe…."

Watching me intently, Ranger took a sip of the margarita, then another. He licked some salt off the edge then drank again, more deeply. Then he kissed me. His mouth was at first icy, all lime and salt and tequila—then fiery desire flamed through us both and his lips were hot on mine. He raised his head and offered me a sip then he drank again, this time putting his margarita-iced mouth to my nipple, then again and the other. I was so close to going over the edge right then and there. His movements were sensual, so slow and dream-like, so erotic. When his eyes met mine they showed nothing, just a dark reflection of the full moon.

He kissed my throat, my cheeks, the nape of my neck and as his lips explored, his fingers trailed down my belly, and caressed me through the fabric of the bikini thong. Somehow then he moved the swimsuit aside and his fingers touched me, caressing then dipping inside me. As his fingers entered my body he kissed me deeply, his tongue mimicking his hand's motions.

"Ranger, there's a call from the Atlanta office. I guess you didn't hear your cell." Tank, fer crissakes.

I looked over Ranger's shoulder at Tank who walked towards us with his cell in hand, picking up Ranger's cell as he passed the patio table where it lay disregarded. He wasn't looking at us, but at the phone screens.

Ranger's eyes locked on mine, and he said to Tank, "Give us a minute here."

Tank finally looked up, stopped, turned, set down Ranger's phone and left without another word.

Ranger started to push away from me. I grabbed his shoulders.

"Are you leaving? Now?"

He smiled a little. "We'll finish this later, babe."

We stood breathless for a moment. I said, "I don't know..."

"Think about it, Steph. Make up your mind. What's it gonna be: yes? or...?"

He dove into the pool's depths to find my swimsuit, helping me pull my thong up, tying the straps of the top behind my back, at my neck. We wrapped ourselves in towels and I froze in embarrassment. Tank was standing inside the glass slider doors, his broad back to the doors, arms folded. He was standing guard for the boss. I was so humiliated, but Ranger was laughing softly.

"Better face him now or it'll be worse in the morning or at the office."

I cringed but then laughed too. The tequila helped.

Tank didn't turn until Ranger tapped on the doors. Either the doors were really soundproof or Tank was very discreet.

... ... ...

**Chapter Six**_** ~ The Dream**_

_**.**_

**I made my escape while Ranger and Tank went into business mode.** I hurried up to the pretty guest room that Jilly had assigned to me, being too discreet a hostess to just assume I was sleeping with Ranger. I almost ran into the bathroom, and stood under the hot shower, lathering my overheated body with the apricot scented shower gel. My head was whirling from the margaritas and the erotic interlude in the pool. _Was I crazy_, I berated myself. I almost had sex with my best friend, my boss, my mentor, and oh, yeah the guy I've been in love with pracically forever. What was I thinking! We were outside, in a swimming pool, practically in public. He undressed me! Two more minutes and we'd have done did _It_ right in front of Tank. Oh-my-freakin'-god!

I finally got out of the shower and wrapped myself and my hair in the fluffy white guest towels. I peeked into the bedroom. No Ranger. OK….I put on a tee shirt and panties and flung myself into bed, staring up at the moonlit ceiling.

_If Ranger wanted me he'd have found me,_ I thought. Or maybe, just maybe he really _was_ letting me decide? I'd waffled so much over my guilt with Joe and I'd used it all as an excuse to keep Ranger at a distance…so….so...?

Finally, I got up and marched over to my duffle bag, rummaged out the silk lingerie that Jilly had insisted I buy. One set was palest peach silk satin, little low-rise shorts like girly boxers and a spaghetti strap cami. I put the tiny garments on and looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. The pale silk was beautiful against my tan skin, my legs looked long and sexy, my breasts showing lush cleavage. I dabbed a tiny bit of perfume on my pulse points. Then I chickened out, what was I doing! _I'm drunk, I'm crazy?_ I stepped out onto the small deck and stood in the moonlight, my mind spinning. After a moment I realized I heard soft voices, and looked down to the wide deck below me.

Nick and Jilly were on their bedroom deck overlooking the ocean. They were whispering and embracing. Jilly had changed into a long floating white gauze skirt and a tiny camisole, and her arms and ankles were circled with exotic jeweled bracelets, chunks of turquoise and rare seashells, pearls and gemstones and gold. Her pale hair was unbraided and free. Her feet were bare. She looked wild and alluring, a sea goddess, a mermaid, a siren.

She twirled in the moonlight then perched on the railing of the deck, skirt hiked up and bare legs wound around Nick's hips. He was shirtless and wore only linen cargo shorts. At first glance I thought he was Ranger and my heart had frozen in my chest. In the moonlight I could see the tribal/surfer tattoos on Nick's lower back—Ranger's body wasn't marked like that. I took a deep breath, unmindful that I was watching the lovers. They were kissing, then Nick gently tugged the cami straps down her arms, exposing her breasts. His dark head bent to her sun kissed breast and rosy nipple.

Jilly's lashes swept up and she met my eyes, raising her brows and making a _what's up?_ motion with her palm. Like, _why are you there and not with Ranger?_ Nick lifted his head and stared at her as if aware he had lost her attention. But she drew him back into her arms, pointing up at Ranger's room and making shooing motions to me behind his back. I laughed silently and nodded. Okay, yes. I could do this.

I walked into Ranger's room, hoping he wouldn't shoot me. He was lying sprawled on his back, on his mounds of pillows, dark lashes curving on his cheeks. He looked incredibly beautiful in the bright white light of the moon. Like all his personal spaces, the room was cool and serene, air conditioning on high but the glass walls left unshaded to the ocean and the moonlight.

I could see his Glock and his phones and pager on the night table and felt safer. Maybe. Sort of. Okay, my knees were weak and I was trembling, not because of the gun, but because of the man lying asleep here in front of me.

I touched the dimmer by the door, illuminating the room more and walked to the edge of the bed. I touched Ranger's bare shoulder and he looked up at me, his eyes wide and serious. He had one hand under the pillows and I heard the safety of his (oops, other) gun click back on. He watched me in silence.

I finally said, "I didn't want to be the one who was afraid to learn to dance."

He reached out, grasped my wrist and drew me down on top of him.

Ranger whispered, "I'm glad, babe….

.

**_It's the heart afraid of breaking - that never learns to dance_**

**_It's the dream afraid of waking - that never takes a chance_**

_It's the one who can't be taken who never learns to give_

_And the soul afraid of dying that never yearns to live_

_Some say love, it is a river that drowns the tender reed_

_Some say love it is a razor that leaves your soul to bleed_

_Just remember in the winter far beneath the bitter snow_

_Lies the seed that_

_Becomes __**the rose**_

_**.**_

**The blond woman whispered her incantations**, spun her webs, and was happy.

"You're meddling, " said Nick sleepily.

"Shhh. Someone had to. And Ranger wanted her to meet us, to know his, uh, family."

"If only we were all of it."

Jilly giggled. "That is so not nice, about my brother!"

"Mmm. I was thinking of our mom, babe. " He dropped a kiss aimed at her cheek, brushed across her ear instead. "Go to sleep, " he whispered.

She sighed and smiled. Then slept.

.

_Memories may be beautiful and yet_

_What's too painful to remember_

_We just choose to forget_

_So it's the laughter_

_We will remember_

_Whenever we remember_

_The way we were…_

_The way we were…_

... ... ...

**"Ranger?"**

**"Yeah, babe?"**

"Those were awfully sad songs Jilly was singing…."

"And?"

"Nothing…."

"Babe."

* * *

><p><strong>tbc<strong>

**Many thanks to everyone who is reading my story and special thanks to the readers who take a moment to review. **


	6. Chapter 7

**Take a Chance**

**.**

**Chapter Seven~ Night Still and Dark **

**.**

**Something awakened me.** Ranger was gone and the big bed just had me in it. After a few minutes I decided to get up, get a snack, find Ranger maybe?

I put on the little silk undies that I'd worn earlier and tiptoed out of the bedroom. The big beach house was glass and grey shingles, part traditional, part modern. Lots of levels, cathedral ceilings, and unexpected spaces. Ranger's room was on a second level and opened to a wide living room. There was a gallery overlooking the main living room and an open, sweeping stairway. Around the other side of the gallery I now noticed more rooms—two doors, both ajar. I skirted along the gallery railing following the beeping sound of a computer in use. One room was dark with only moonlight. The other was dimly illuminated by what I presumed was a computer screen.

I peeked inside. The room seemed to be an office or library, two entirely glass walls, the other two with shelves of books. Big desk turned sideways to the door so that the person using the computer could also enjoy the ocean views.

Ranger was slouched in the big desk chair, watching the screen intently. I padded up beside him and he tilted his head slightly, acknowledging my presence.

I said, "Come back to bed. I miss you…." And I hesitantly ran my hand across his shoulder, leaning into him.

Ranger smiled and pushed the chair back a bit, shifting to look up at me. At the same time his right hand released the computer mouse and grasped the room remote, engaging the room's recessed lighting.

He turned his head and smiled up at me. "Hey, Steph, can't sleep?"

"Omigod! I'm so sorry. I thought you were Ranger!"

It was not Ranger though, this was Nick, his blue eyes wide in the soft light. My face flushed with embarrassment. I stepped back a pace and studied him. How could I possibly mistake anyone else for Ranger?

But the resemblance was so strong, especially when he turned his head away again, momentarily distracted by the screen of the computer. At some point since he arrived earlier, he had his hair trimmed. The bleached blond spiked ends were gone and he had the same short dark cut as Ranger. In profile, the same nose, cheekbones, long eyelashes. Similar build. I saw that he was holding one of the household pug dogs on his lap, another curled at his feet; the third barely visible because it was black, also at his feet.

He wore khaki shorts and a long sleeve black t-shirt, no shoes. An expensive-looking metal watch, stainless steel? Platinum? A Rolex. How much did a platinum Rolex cost, anyway…? It slipped loosely on his wrist, like an expensive bracelet. Ranger always wore a functional matte black divers' watch. The watch and the eyes were the only differences that my sleepy eyes could discern.

He waited a few beats while I processed his appearance and not-Ranger-ness. The tiny almost smile grew a bit. He said, "Ranger went surfing. My brother-in-law Anthony got here a while ago, and he wanted to go surfing... .Ranger and Tank and Jilly went with him."

"Surfing! It's 3 AM."

"Yeah, night surfing….Maybe dawn surfing if the waves are good."

"Isn't that dangerous?" Not to mention scary, who knows what is in the dark water at night, yikes.

Nick shook his head, still with the slight smile, "No, sharks can't see you in the dark. And anyway, it's awesome. Hot night, full moon, hurricane waves, no wind. It's not dangerous for locals."

"Uh huh. So didn't you want to go too?" I asked.

The smile grew wider. "Yeah. But Antonio stayed at the office tonight past midnight, working, so I figured I'd take a shift, give him a break. He works too hard."

I gestured to the computer, "So you're working now?"

"In a sense, though really I'm just monitoring transactions and monetary value results. We did an IPO yesterday, it's taking off nicely."

"IPO?"

"Yes, an IPO is an initial Public Offering. We underwrite and finance tech companies that want to expand and go public, need capital, need R& D funding, whatever…."

"You work for a bank?"

"Not exactly, Steph."

"Not a bank?"

Pause. "That's not what I meant, I must be tired and not making myself clear. Yes it is a bank, but not a commercial bank. We don't give out check books or home improvement loans. M/S World is a private investment bank. We—Anthony and I—are the operations partners. It's a family concern, I guess you could call it. Anyway we took this chip development company public yesterday; it's going well, as you can see."

He showed me lots of zeros with the cursor. And explained a bit more. He sounded like Ranger in Wall Street mode.

I asked, "Isn't it boring?" Ooops, mouth-brain disconnect.

But he smiled. "Maybe a bit dry but you, know, millions—let's say hundreds of millions—of dollars profit overnight—well, that makes it more interesting."

"And you _work_ for this bank?"

"Babe! No, we _**own**_ it."

I rubbed my eyes sleepily. Did he just say he made hundreds of millions today? Nah…

He smiled the full out Ranger smile, white teeth flashing. God, he was gorgeous. And he smelled great but not like Ranger. I leaned closer and sniffed, "What is that scent you wear? It's different."

It's some French concoction Jilly gave me, do you like it?"

"Yeah. It's, um, different."

He smiled again. "It s how you can tell us apart in the dark."

I guess he was referring to Ranger's Bulgari scent.

We looked at each other for a few beats. Would I know he wasn't Ranger? Surely I would. But had not just now. I shivered.

The moment was interrupted by low voices coming through the glass sliding wall which was open to the warm summer night. We walked out and leaned on the deck railing, watching the night surfers return. Jilly and Tank waved. Ranger met my eyes but didn't smile. There was a third man who didn't come to the house. Instead he got in the yellow sports car parked at the curb and roared off into the night.

Nick and I stood for another moment. We could hear Ranger and Tank and Jilly bringing the surfboards into the garage. I turned looking out at the moonlit ocean trying to picture being in it at night. Nick was very close, I could feel his warmth beside me.

He said finally, "These are very cute. I hope Jilly bought little shorts like this…."

And I felt his warm hand gently caress me, running over my silk clad butt cheeks then his warm fingers dipped underneath in a longer caress. I gasped in shock and jumped away. He stared at me then his eyes dropped to my obviously excited nipples. I crossed my arms over my chest and glared.

His smile got wider. He said, "Oops."

I left as fast as my shaky knees allowed. What the hell just happened?

I scurried back to bed and fortunately Ranger took my mind off my questions for the rest of the night.

Banks? Millions? Ranger clones?

Nah.

Sigh.

All a dream…..


	7. Chapter 8

**Take a Chance**

**.**

**Thank you for reading and especially for sending comments and reviews. sunny**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eight ~ <strong>_**Another Morning After**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

**I woke up to a sunny bedroom** and an empty bed _again_. Ranger was already up and gone.

_Don't these people get tired,_ I grumped to myself as I showered and dressed in shorts and tank top. I followed the smell of fresh coffee down to the kitchen.

The kitchen was large and sunny. Besides all the gourmet appliances and huge fridge there was room for a country-style white wood table with a natural pine top. Yesterday it had held a pristine bowl of fresh tropical fruit. This morning the table was surrounded by muscular young men in flowered board shorts and the table itself was covered with guns and gun cleaning stuff. The reek of gun oil competed with the smell of coffee.

The sight of all these guys literally half-dressed, all those naked chests, not to mention the sight of Ranger in flowered surf shorts—well, it was overpowering.

I stood for a moment in awe.

Ranger looked up, sensing my presence. He couldn't have heard me because the guys had music blasting, probably what woke me up, and a flat screen TV was tuned to a financial channel which scrolled the Bloomberg Report closing stock market prices, even though it was a Saturday.

Now Ranger caught sight of me and smiled, giving me the come here finger gesture. To my utter amazement the other men in the room all stood when I entered, you don't see manners like that in the Burg! Tank sat back down, but Nick gestured to the third man and said, "Stephanie, this is Jilly's brother, Anthony Stewart."

Anthony smiled at me and I offered my hand but he drew me close for a hug and proceeded to kiss me on both cheeks. _Very_ European, I thought, extricating myself. I had a moment's awareness of muscular, suntanned body and expensive scent.

He said, "Babe."

I thought, _Huh? _His smile got wider.

I looked down at the table. Ranger's two 9mm handguns were present but not dismantled for cleaning. Also on the table were a pistol grip sawed-off shotgun that I thought was Ranger's car gun, an assault rifle—an AK47 maybe, and a beautiful, lethal-looking matte grey high tech sniper rifle. I wasn't sure what to call it, but I knew what it was because next to it were open cases with scopes and ammo.

I looked at Anthony. I guess he belonged to that rifle. It was in front of him and he sat back down quietly, instantly immersed in the final wipe-off and repacking. I'd never seen a sniper rifle in Ranger's possession although I suppose he could have one (or a hundred) and know how to use it. Them.

Nick brought me a cup of hot coffee and said, "Jilly and Lula ran out for bagels and donuts. They'll be here with breakfast in a minute."

I said, "Thanks, this is what I need right now." Meaning the coffee. I really needed more sleep or I needed some caffeine.

The guys embarked on a complex discussion of the weapons scopes. I noticed no one touched the scopes themselves except Anthony. I gathered that was correct gun etiquette.

I studied the new arrival, I hoped discreetly. He was long-boned and slim like his sister, very blond. Early to mid-twenties, I couldn't tell exactly. His light golden hair was cut military short on the sides and braided into tiny weird dreadlocks on top. He had a beautiful deep tan and a great body, thin but muscular, big shoulders and biceps. Flowered shorts. Tattoos on wrist, neck and stomach. Diamond belly button stud. When he slouched in the kitchen chair his perfect washboard abs did that little fold-up ripple thing and the diamond disappeared for a second. I couldn't see what the tattoo was, didn't want to stare.

He must have felt my eyes on him because he suddenly raised his head and met my eyes. He was really good-looking. Beautiful features, high cheekbones, straight nose, generous mouth that now widened in a smile. He had unusual eyes for someone so blond. _Familiar eyes_, I thought, distractedly. They were dark brown, almost black, melting Latino eyes. Like bittersweet chocolate. Assessing, watchful eyes, serious despite the smile. Long eyelashes, dark with blond tips. His smile ramped a few notches under my scrutiny, a million dollar smile, just like….

I looked away, confused again. My thoughts were diverted by the arrival of our hostess with the breakfast bagels. And doughnuts!

Jilly bounced in. (Ugh!) Little white shorts. Endless brown legs. No bra, baby tee. Flipflops. Way too much energy.

"Who's up for golf, I gotta know who's playing so I can call for tee times." She bestowed kisses all around.

Lula and I exchanged eye rolls.

The guys were all nodding though, much to my amazement. Ranger and Tank played golf?

The dreadlock guy played golf?

Jilly looked at me and Lula. "No? No golf?"

"Uh, no…" We shrugged.

"Will you be okay here at the house? There's the pool and the beach and stuff? You won't mind if we go golfing? The boys like to unwind."

I laughed. "Not at all. I'll be very happy to nap by the pool."

Lula was nodding. "Fuckin' A. Ecstatic."

"Well, okay." She talked on her cell phone for awhile, then said to the men, "They'll let us play a fivesome if we think we'll play fast. I'm gonna say yes."

The guys nodded vaguely.

"OK, 10.15. Thanks," she spoke nicely into her cell phone.

Anthony said, "I wanted to play 36 holes."

She hung up, frowned at him. "I'm sure you can pick up a second round if you want..."

The other guys kept eating, no one moved.

I said, "Is the golf course close by?"

"Yeah, it's like across the street," said Anthony.

Lula said, "I'm gonna get ready for the beach. I need to work on my tan!"

Everyone laughed.

Lula said, "Hunh," and flounced off to her room to change.

I sat at the table eating my doughnut. Ranger finally spoke to me and said (what else?), "Babe?"

"Yeah?"

"Come keep me company while I change into my golf clothes."

_Okay_, I thought, _because I can't wait to see what Ranger wears for golf! All black? Where will he put his guns?_

I followed him up to his room. He pulled me into his arms and kissed me.

Awhile later I asked, "Ranger?"

"Yeah?"

" Was that a sniper rifle?"

"Yes…."

"Why was it light grey-tan like that? Aren't they usually black?"

"The light tan rifles are desert issue, babe. You can get whatever you want, camo, urban black...desert grey. I didn't know you were interested in guns."

Desert issue? Like war in Iraq or Afghanistan desert?

I said, "Just curious."

Ranger kissed me again."Rest up for tonight."

I smiled. "Okay…." Yes I'm a dope sometimes.

"Life in the fast lane, babe."

He grinned. Then he rummaged in the big walk-in closet, emerging with a set of golf clubs and a pair of spike-soled golf shoes. He put the shotgun on the dresser and his Glocks in the golf bag. In the little side section where normal people keep their golf balls.

He disappeared again and came back in a few minutes dressed in tailored, expensive-looking tan golf shorts and a pale aqua LaCoste golf shirt that had a tiny alligator on the chest, and battered leather boat shoes on his feet. The shoes looked like they were supposed to be old and grungy, like that was the chic way to wear them.

I gaped at him. OK, this was yet another Ranger. Or maybe a leisure version of cashmere and Italian loafers Ranger? The aqua shirt actually looked wonderful on him, it set off his beautiful dark coloring. He looked very rich and very handsome. He looked like a Ralph Lauren ad in _Town and_ _Country_. I unconsciously licked my lips.

He said, "What?"

"I never imagined you playing golf, I guess."

He laughed. "Why not, babe, I'm good at it."

I said, "Why I am not surprised."

... ... ...

**Lula and I deliberately, blatantly lolled around all day. **Our biggest effort was to touch up our manicures and pedicures. We drank Long Island iced tea that we found in the fridge, we ate all kinds of good stuff that Jilly left for us. We read the beach novels she provided and the early edition of the Sunday NY Times. We slept, swam, slept. We were so lazy we didn't even go over to the beach, just luxuriated in the pool and the comfort of Jilly's beach house.

The golfers finally returned late in the afternoon. I never did find out who won. Or if it mattered. Next on the agenda was apparently a long siesta time. Ranger drew me up to his room. Sleep was not what he had in mind.

Later we all swam, then we got dressed up, well, the girls did, guys here seemed to wear shorts and maybe a t-shirt or tank top…and we went clubbing. We came home late, we swam, we drank tropical cocktails, and we went to bed and made love till dawn.

Summer at the beach…it's like there's no such thing as the Real World. And that's how Ranger and I began our unacknowledged, non-relationship.

...*...*...

**Now it's November, autumn**...and I am thinking things will change. I examine my new manicure and wish I bit my nails.

* * *

><p><em>Memories…light the corners of my mind<em>

_Misty watercolor memories…_

_Of the way we were…_

_Scattered pictures of the smiles we left behind_

_Smiles we gave to one another_

_For the way we were…._

_Shattered memories of the dreams we left behind_

_Dreams we shared with one another_

_of the way we were…_

_Oh can it be that it was all so different then_

_Or has time rewritten every line_

_If we had a chance to do it all again _

_Tell me_

_Would we? Could we?_

_Memories may be beautiful and yet_

_What's too painful to remember_

_We simply choose to forget_

_So it's the laughter_

_That we'll remember _

_Whenever we remember _

_The way we were…._

_The way we were._

_Bette Midler __**Memories [The Way We We**_

* * *

><p>tbc [Tues or Wed?]<p> 


	8. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine ~ **_**No Strings—**_

_[the present day, November]_

_still Stephanie POV_

**The black Mercedes, Ranger silent at the wheel, **began the endless skim over bridges and navy blue water and marshy islands filled with amber reeds and edged with red autumn vines. I felt Ranger's glance, which brought me back to the present, to this Saturday in November. That weekend was, what? four months ago? Since then I had seen Jilly once or twice...and she phoned me sometimes. And Anthony drifted into Trenton now and then. I had not seen Nick again at all, he remained an enigma. But on some unexamined level I understood that this was Ranger's way of showing me his family. He never mentioned parents or his childhood but he let me into his life, displayed the people he cared about.

I wasn't sure what that meant. I was in resolutely un-relationship mode.

Now, as we drove drown the little dead-end road, I saw the golden dunes in front of us, blue sky overhead. Gulls. A police SUV was parked at the head of the short block that ended in Jilly's summer home. Ranger stopped and he and the cop unrolled their windows, the cop giving a friendly wave. The fresh ocean air blew into the car. It smelled of salt brine and wood smoke.

Dead fish and rotting seaweed. I'm not real romantic, so sue me.

Ranger greeted the cop who appeared to know him."Yo."

"Hey man. How's it going."

"Good. Everything okay?" asked Ranger.

"Yessir."

"Later."

Windows up, we rolled on.

Ranger said, "The cops here have almost nothing to do. There's really no crime..."

I wondered if he thought that was boring, but I said, "It's so peaceful here. I can see why you love it."

This got me a quick glance, but Ranger said nothing. He hit the garage door remote that he dug out of the console and parked in the garage. The garage was fairly empty, just the household's silver Jeeps and Jilly's brother's yellow Ferrari. And his red old Wrangler. Right in front of us was a new shiny black Mercedes SLK 500 convertible with temporary plates.

_Hmmmm._ Looked like one of Ranger's cars. Jilly and her husband seemed to buy silver cars; her brother Anthony had all different colors. He said he had no need to drive badass black, everyone here knew him anyway. All his cars had vanity plates that said YUMMY —and yes, he is, in a scary sort of way— and usually a surfboard sticking out recklessly. Only the Ferrari was different; its plates said ONESHOT. Anthony did not do Low Profile. I didn't want to think too hard about the "one shot" reference. I made up my mind when I met him: _just don't ask._

We went through to the kitchen, got drinks and used the bathrooms. It's a long drive, what can I say. Then Ranger took my hand and led me over the pale sun-greyed wooden dune ramp and onto the sand. It was a big beach, miles of white sand and golden dunes, and it was entirely empty today. We headed east along the edge of the ocean, in silence.

I thought_, Well, at least he's not making me jog! _

But finally the silence got to me. "So why are we here?"

"Babe."

"Don't _babe _me, Ranger. Did you drag me all the way here to dump me?"

"Babe. Ooops, sorry," he added as I punched his arm lightly.

"Well?"

"Stephanie, I wouldn't drag you all the way out here to dump you. Why would you think I'm gonna dump you, aren't you happy with me?" His tone was excruciatingly neutral, I so wanted to scream.

"Right this minute I am NOT HAPPY with you at all." I answered.

"But in general."

"Ranger!"

"Babe, I wouldn't drive two hours to break up with you. Then I'd have to sit in the car with a pissed off babe for the two hours back to Trenton. No way."

"I'm thinking you brought me here for a reason."

Silence.

"Ranger? Are you out there?"

"I told you, I want to talk to you."

"Uh huh."

My Burg glare rolled right off his broad shoulders. "So….why. Are. We. Here?"

He said, "I'm going away for a few weeks and I wanted to talk to you."

Silence. Just the sounds of the waves and the wind and the seagulls….

"And?"

"What's with you and Morelli?"

"What do you mean, _what's with me and Morelli_? We broke up, for good. I've been with you for months. Since the summer. How can you ask me that?"

"You never really said what happened between you two."

I told him, "Nothing happened. That was the problem. It was sad, it just got too sad."

Nothing from Ranger. He was waiting so I let him have it—_all_.

"You know what, Ranger, I could never tell Joe that I loved him. Just couldn't say the words. I couldn't even think the words to myself. Guess that was one thing I just couldn't lie about, not to Joe, not even to myself. I finally had to admit that I wasn't ever gonna love him the way he needed me to love him or the way I needed to love him….

Pause. No response from the man walking beside me.

"I never had any problem saying I love _**you**_**.** Casual-like. A "given". I could think to myself, _I love Ranger_. It was always you, Ranger….I got together with Joe at the same time I met you. On that first case, when I was hunting Joe. Joe was easy for me. He was the Burg. He was familiar. But it was always you that I loved, Ranger."

No response. I took a deep breath and contiued. "I'll never forget meeting you in that crummy little café. Connie said I'd know who you were 'cause you were really hot, and, omigod, Connie was right. I really wasn't prepared though. I'd never seen anyone like you. I was gone, I was lost, I was in love or lust, whatever."

I smiled, remembering. "You were _amazing_. The face, the hair, the body—the ghetto voice. The NOT-ghetto voice. The gun. The million dollar smile, the million dollar ass. Wow. I was _all yours_. I was in love. End of story. But of course you were too scary for me. I was so intimidated.

"So, yeah, I got together with Morelli. But it never really went anywhere ever because I always knew it was you— you that I trusted,and depended on, you that I _loved._ I'd kiss Joe and think about kissing you. We'd ...well, nevermind... But I knew you were magic…..I love _you_, Ranger. I love you..."

_Okay, what the hell, I said __**it,**__ can't take it back now. _

_What am I, crazy? A masochist? Geez…._

More pause. More silence. More fucking seagulls calling.

"You know I love you, babe."

I gave a choked, shaky laugh. "Oh yeah, I know. In your own way. No price, no tab, no strings, no rings. So—yeah…." My voice cracked a little. I was determined not to cry.

Ranger stopped walking and turned me to face him. The low autumn sun surrounded us like golden honey. He was wearing the mirrored sunglasses and I couldn't read his eyes. Not that I ever could anyway. His warm hands grasped my upper arms gently.

He said, "You misunderstood about the no tab, no price...you said we wouldn't work. Remember? And I lied about the ring, babe. I'm sorry."

_What?_

As he spoke he slid a metal band onto my finger. It was warm from his body where it had been in his pocket. With his gun? Then the band turned cold in the chilly autumn air.

He went on, "For me it was always about rings and strings and forever. It was big and scary and unexpected but I always loved you. Right from the day we met in that crappy little diner.

"But my life is complicated, babe. There are things that I can't tell you. Not now. Maybe not ever. I wanted to give you a chance with Morelli. He'd give you a safe life in the Burg. I wanted to give you time to choose. But time is running out and if you're sure you want to be with me then I need to know you'll be here for me, if I—_when_ I return from—my trip."

I was just stunned, in shock. Ranger really loved me? Like, forever and always _loved_ me? How was that possible?

The good news is, the shock had dried up my stupid tears.

I looked down at our clasped hands. And I finally looked at the ring he had slipped onto my left hand. I gasped. It was gorgeous, stunning, stupendous. It was glorious. Okay, I had a diamond engagement ring when I was married to Dickie. Of course I sold it right away to pay the divorce lawyer. But I knew about diamond rings. Hey, any girl from the Burg knows about diamonds. We dream about our wedding gowns and engagement rings from the time we're old enough to dress up our White Wedding Barbies. So I knew this ring was special. It was truly awesome. The kind of ring you see in glossy fashion magazines advertising Fifth Avenue jewelers, no price ever listed.

Yes, priceless.

And yes, Ranger is...successful. Wealthy. Okay, rich. The ring looked like him—expensive, beautiful. Perfect taste, awesome, and…scary. Very scary. The diamonds were emerald cut but in some high tech way that made them even more glittery. They flashed tiny rainbow fires in the cold bright beach sunshine. The center stone was almost as big as my fingernail. There were smaller stones on each side, seven diamonds in all, set on a platinum band. The smallest diamond was well over a carat, maybe two, the kind of diamond that is usually front and center in a solitaire but used here as the trim, I guess you'd say.

The diamonds were so extravagant that I could hardly believe they were real. But of course Ranger would never give me a ring with fake stones. He wasn't the zirconia type.

"Earth to Babe."

"Are they real?" I whispered.

Okay, so my mouth wasn't connected to my brain. I drew a sharp breath and looked up at Ranger. Still the blank mirrored eyes, but a slight smile on his lips. I wondered how much time had passed.

"Diamonds aren't much good if they're not real, Steph."

Another Ranger style pause while his shuttered eyes studied my face. He leaned down and kissed me gently. Not much heat, no tongue. He pushed the Oakleys up on top of his head. His beautiful hot dark eyes bored into my dazed eyes.

"So what's it gonna be, babe? It is yes?"

That's what he said to me that last summer night when I asked him again what Jilly's songs meant…That last night, that August night

_Oh but I may as well try and catch the wind…_.

His hands tightened on my arms. "Steph? Is it yes? Or...?"

"Yes! Yes. Yes what?" I said.

"Yes you love me. Yes you'll wait for me. Yes you're mine. Yes you'll marry me. Yes whatever."

"Yes. Yes!"

I flung my arms around his neck, ours bodies crashing together. We staggered in the soft sand and went down laughing, Ranger on his back, me on top. Our eyes met. The laughter stopped and he kissed me. His hands held my arms then slid down my back. I felt his warm hands under my short denim skirt at the edge of my panties. His fingers slide inside as the kiss deepened.

"I'm glad you wore a skirt, babe."

Good thing this beach was really _really _deserted on a November afternoon.

tbc


	9. Chapter 10

**a/n Many thanks to everyone who is reading my story and especially to those readers who take the time to review and send personal messages. love, sunny**

**.**

**.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Ten ~ <em>But I Thought<em>...?**

.

[Stephanie]

**Afterward we brushed the sand off **and rearranged our clothes, smiling and almost giddy. At least I was giddy, who knows what Ranger felt, but he looked_—_what? _—_blank. Blank but okay, well, this is Ranger after all. I was startled by a honking car horn. The beach cops were driving by in their white Explorer. They waved. We waved back.

"Omigod, I hope they weren't around a few minutes ago," I said.

"Don't worry, babe, the local cops know when to make themselves scarce."

"Oooh!" I could feel my face getting red.

Ranger almost-smiled at me. "C'mon babe. Let's go home and shower this sand off."

"Good idea." I started to turn back towards Jilly's house in the dunes. But Ranger caught my arm and stopped me.

He kissed me again and said, very quietly, very seriously, "I love you, babe."

I stared at him wide eyed but managed to say, "I love you too. I always have. I always will."

He took my hand again and slipped another ring onto my finger next to the fabulous diamond engagement ring.

"This is the wedding band that goes with your ring. I want you to have it while I'm gone. I need to be sure you won't have second thoughts or start second-guessing me. I want to be sure that you will look at these rings and know I love you."

The wedding ring was lovely too. Diamonds channel set in platinum. Not little diamonds either. I had to smile. The rings were just so..._Ranger_. I said, "The rings are so beautiful. Thank you."

His eyes were black and intense, that subtle look he got only when he was very serious….or worried.

"Whatever happens, remember that I loved you."

I was getting a strange vibe here finally. Something was up and had to do with these rings worth a king's ransom. Something about a job and time running out. Uh-oh.

"Is this a Rangeman trip or something else?"

"A little bit of both."

"I guess you can't give me any details about this_—_trip?"

That got me a sharp look, back with the sunglasses but I felt his eyes and the sudden tension in his body.

I said, "Promise me you'll come back!"

"I promise," he said without hesitation.

_Oh, too easy…. "_Promise me you'll come back alive. I saw that movie! Promise me you'll come back alive. No flag draped coffins!"

"Movie?" The raised eyebrow. Then, "Probably no flag," he said, stopping to look at me intently. He stood hands on hips, not touching me. He looked intimidating. Scary Ranger was back.

"I see you've figured it out, at least part of the deal. I knew you were smart. But I'm sorry, Steph, I can't give you any details. Not _won't. Can't._ You have to trust me. Maybe later, maybe someday I can tell you more, but only afterward. You're gonna have to accept that. Or it's not gonna work for us.

"I told you that there were reasons_—_that a relationship with me was going to be difficult, even impossible. Did you think I was bullshitting you, that I was just afraid of commitment? That I was just some kind of street player? Give me more credit, babe."

That was a lot of words for Ranger. I took a deep breath and forced down my frightened tears."I know, I understand. I always knew it had to be something like that. Nothing else made sense. I knew you'd never use the street name Ranger if that was what you really did."

"I started in the Rangers, but then, well, it changed…."

"For a long time I thought you were a cop, an undercover cop."

"No."

"Remember when the funeral parlor burned down? And the surveillance cops all came? You were with them. And I thought..."

"That was a long time ago, babe. As I recall I was running a parallel job for, uh..."

I grabbed his arm, looked into his eyes. "Do you have to do this? Why does it have to be you?"

I was desperate and scared. I'm not tough, surely he didn't expect me to just smile and wave my hero off to battle. _Oh no…..please, no._

Ranger smiled at me. "It's what I do best, babe. You know it is, right?"

I reluctantly nodded.

After a moment, he added, "It's what I've trained to be all my adult life. I'm good at it…..And I enjoy it."

What could I say? Yeah, _so_ _the superhero is an adrenaline junkie. No! He's a hero_—_a soldier of sorts._ I just nodded again and we walked on.

"When are you leaving?"

"Probably tomorrow noon. I expect to be gone less than three weeks. All my important legal and business information is in the computers at Rangeman. You can access the data if you need it. Most of my crew will be going with me. I'll leave just enough men to keep things going. Any emergency with security accounts or your personal safety will be handled by a friend of mine who has a security firm in NYC. Call her if anything comes up. I don't want to be worrying about your safety.

"Promise. Please, Steph."

''I promise.''

He handed me a business card. The woman's name was familiar.

"Isn't her husband the Manhattan DA?"

"Yeah. So she has good connections. And she runs a topnotch personal security firm."

"Bodyguards R Us?"

"In a way." He gave me another card. "This is a good friend who is a lawyer. If things ever go really wrong and you need to find a lawyer for me or my guys, this is the man."

"Major Sean Drummond, US Army JAG," I read. "Isn't he the famous army lawyer who specializes in defending Special Forces troops? Like Black Ops? Or Delta Force? I know I've read about him, or seen him on 60 Minutes….?"

Ranger just looked at me sideways as we hiked over the dunes. He had that "you're a really dim bulb sometimes" look on his face. I could tell even with the damn sunglasses.

"Oh."

"The information for your rings is also in the Rangeman computers. If you ever need money, for any reason, take them back to the jeweler. Don't be sentimental. They can always be replaced."

"What if I lose them! What if they get blown up!"

"Babe, they're insured. And hopefully you won't be wearing them if they get blown up."

Ranger humor. Ugh.

Pause.

"Babe, the rings are just like the cars. They're pretty and nice to have but they're just things. Stuff. I can replace things. It's people that matter. _You_ are what matters."

By now we were back at the beach house. The short autumn day was almost over and it was getting chilly.

Denial is my middle name...not really, but...I smiled and wrapped my arm around his waist above the other gun. I said, "You know what we need, Ranger? We need a shower and a fire in the fireplace and some Irish coffees and later some pizza and wine. Maybe even some of that Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia ice cream that Jilly keeps stashed in her freezer. We need to make the rest of the day and tonight count. I have plans for you. Hope you can live up to them. We're gonna make some great memories for both of us."

_Unsaid: To keep us sane, to hold in our hearts, while you're off doing god knows what, god knows where._

"Babe."

**tbc**

**a/n The woman with the security firm is Marlene Ciampi from Robert Tanenbaum's Butch Karp, NYC DA series. Sean Drummond, the JAG lawyer, is a crossover from his series by Brian Haig. Standard fanfic disclaimers apply as always.**


	10. Chapter 11, 12, 13

**a/n: It has been pointed out to me that this story is moving rather too slowly... And I have a short attention span. So I am going to get it up here faster than I usually might. If no one reviews, well, TS as my mom always said. If you do review, many thanks.**

* * *

><p><strong>Take a Chance 11, 12,13<strong>

**.**

**.**

**Chapter Eleven ~ A Fool for Love **

**.**

_[Ranger]_

**Steph sits against me, her curls brushing **my jaw. I'm not one for lounging around doing nothing but I understand her need to, I don't know, formalize our agreement? In Steph's world, sofa lounging is a big part of couple's life. She sighs and looks down, admiring the rings.

That part of the plan has gone well. She has been remarkably accepting and took my years of lying to her better than I expected and she seems determined to understand my work parameters as best she can.

Stephanie says softly, "The rings really are beautiful, Ranger."

I brush my lips across her hairline, quietly said, "I'm glad."

She snuggles into my arms and during the ensuing silence I think about the day Tank prodded me to produce these diamond extravaganzas.

We were on a stakeout together. Anything to get away from the paperwork at Rangeman. In the cover vehicle Tank projected tense vibes, unusual for him. An hour into the surveillance job I asked him, "What's wrong?"

Tank looked up. "Nothing, boss."

"I can tell it's something. Lula dumped you again?"

"Man, I'll never understand women! And don't give me advice! Steph's been running you stupid for years."

I was offended. "Surely not stupid?"

"Yep, stupid," said Tank, looking more cheerful. "Look in the Wikipedia, man. Next to _stupid about women_ is a picture of Ranger Manoso."

"Shit."

For another hour or so we endured the tedium in stoic silence, watching the warehouse and environs, our senses alert, our thoughts elsewhere.

Finally Tank said, "Thing is, over the last couple of days I've been a fool."

I shrugged. "I never noticed the difference."

"I told Lula I didn't want to marry anyone who'd try to trick me into it! That I wanted it to be my idea or at least I wanted to participate in the proposal. In the friggin' planning!"

I tried to convey a manly yet sympathetic silence.

"So she said_, In that case the wedding is off! _and she threw that cheap piece of crap ring in my face and ran out crying."

"Ran out?"

"Yeah and we were at her place! I felt like shit."

?

"Because, you know, man, I do love Lula. Man, she is perfect for me."

I said dubiously, "You love her?" This really wasn't a conversation I wanted to have.

"I—Yes! Yes I love her!"

I asked Tank, "Would you have ever gotten yourself together and actually proposed to her? Or would you have just jerked her around for years, mouthing bullshit about no commitment, no relationships?"

Tank put his hand on his weapon and said, "Excuse me?"

"Let's face it, you'd never have thought further than the next time you got laid if it wasn't for Lula forcing the issue."

"Ranger. Focus here. We are talking about me, not you."

"I'm gonna ignore that, Tank. Because I'm not sure your _accident_ insurance is totally paid up and it might cost a lot to patch you up if I decide to take offense."

We glared at each other. Then faced forward to watch the warehouse again.

Another hour passed. I said, "What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?"

"Huh? It's my day off, I was gonna spend it bed with Lula. But now? No plans, boss."

"Maybe we should drive into the city and looks at rings."

"Rings?"

"Yeah, you don't want to get married to Lula with that piece of junk she got, do you?"

"You said rings. Plural."

"_Plural?_ Sometimes I forget we both have college educations. And can use words like _plural_."

"Plural this," said Tank and grabbed his crotch.

"Ah. No," I said. "And as for rings _plural_, well, I'll shop for Steph, too."

Tank shook his head but agreed. "Sure, boss. Brothers til the end."

"Til the end, Tank."

"There's our skip."

"Let's go."

**We spent that Saturday in New York City**. At _Harry Winston_, I inspected the rings they were creating for me with diamonds I have collected since the day I met Stephanie at the greasy spoon diner. The rings were made of "perfect" pure white whatever diamonds, beautiful old mine-cut diamonds, probably dating from the mid-1800s. I have watched the gem auctions for years, searching for the right stones.

I didn't want Steph to wear a conflict diamond, not on her wedding rings anyway. No newly mined diamond whose brief life was soaked in the blood and horror I knew all too well, the killing fields of twenty-first century Africa. Not that the world of diamond mines was ever as glorious as the myth of these much-romanticized stones pretended. The cutter at Winston had cleaned up the facets and re-polished the stones but they were not re-cut; re-cutting old stones destroys their value, their pedigree, so to speak.

I chose the largest stone, the engagement ring stone, a long time ago. For Stephanie.

Later we stopped into Choppard and I bought her a diamond floating heart locket on a diamond and platinum chain. Tank raised an eyebrow. I shrugged and said, "Just…because…" And yes, I realize I have no clue where the necklace's relatively small stones derived from. I make an effort, I'm not perfect, you know.

Finally I steered Tank few blocks over, to Tiffany. We figured Lula was a Tiffany kind of woman, she's love that little blue box.

Despite recognizing me—or Carlos Manoso—the Tiffany security staff were visibly unnerved by us: two large, scary men-in-black who were obviously armed and dangerous. The sales staff, customers, and tourists were nervous too, And I wasn't thrilled with the fangirl stares I got. Tank was so tense he never noticed the stares _he_ got—where people see me and wonder if I am someone they should know from the media, the same people see Tank and think _pro football player._

We ignored the stares and whispers and charmed the grey haired, razor-thin saleslady, ending up with a five carat sugar-pink, cushion-cut diamond set in platinum, surrounded by tiny white diamonds. When Tank handed over his personal AmEx Black card, everyone in the store, including me, breathed a sigh of relief.

The current "suicide" job had not been assigned at that point. But I think both Tank and I had a premonition.

... ... ...

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 12 ~<strong>_** The Good Guys**_

_**.**_

_[Stephanie]_

**We held hands like teenagers hiking** back to the empty beach house. There wasn't much more to say, at least not then.

Later that evening we were curled up in front of the dying fire, cozy and sated under a cashmere throw, tucked up on Jilly's white linen sofa.

I turned in Ranger's arms, studying his face in the firelight. He looked relaxed, lost in thought, his perfect features highlighted by the soft glow of the fire. Whatever racial and genetic mix had gone into his creation, it had produced a magnificent specimen. High cheekbones, straight nose. Generous mouth with a sensual full lower lip. Those perfect white teeth. His eyes were Latino dark, almost black, with lovely long eyelashes. In recent years he had been cutting his hair very short, saying it made him more low profile (as if!), but when I first met him, he had worn it long. I knew his hair was thick, straight, shiny, black—trust Ranger to even have better hair than me. Skin like warm brown silk—all over. Not many scars. The graceful athlete's body, overlaid with rippling buff muscles. Even his voice was beautiful, low and sexy; his natural accent when not affecting his ghetto cover was educated, articulate—East Coast with a hint of somewhere else.

I gave a happy sigh, having successfully put tomorrow and his leaving out of my mind.

Ranger smiled just a little and tucked a stray curl behind my ear. He caught my admiring look and said, "So, what? I'm just a pretty face? You fell in love with me for my looks?"

I thought, _Well, duh…_

But of course it was more than that. I pulled away from him just a bit so I could look into his dark, dark eyes. I wondered if it bothered him that most women, and even some men, regarded him with blatant sexual hunger. Truthfully I couldn't picture him noticing or caring, but who knew what went on inside his head.

I smiled at Ranger and answered, "Truth is, I fell in love with you because I figured out your deep dark secret."

"Babe."

"Yeah. I did. I figured out that inside that great body, under the black clothes, behind the gorgeous face and the million dollar smile—beneath the brilliance and intimidation, the stillness and silence, even under all the fire and magic—way deep down in your heart—you're one of life's good guys. A knight, a cowboy, a hero. A decent, honorable man; a loyal, loving friend. You are always there for me, come when I call, you rescued me, taught me , accepted me, and, yes, you loved me. _Me. As is_. Even if only in your own way, whatever the hell that means. And I always trusted you totally. I don't think I'll ever come home to find you screwing Joyce Barnhart on the kitchen table. You're a good guy, Ranger. That's why I love you. So, ooops, your secret is out**."**

When I said the part about Joyce Barnhart, Ranger had made a face like _eeeeew_, and did an eye roll worthy of any Burg girl. I laughed and lightly punched his chest. "I'm serious! I don't want you to think I'm shallow and only care about your looks."

"Or my money."

I had to laugh. He was teasing me.

"Money is good, Ranger."

He laughed. "Let's move this party to a wider arena, babe."

I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. No gun this time, just warm skin and hard muscles. He carried me off to his big bed. And coming together we forgot tomorrow for the remainder of the night.

I noticed he didn't deny being one of the good guys. I hoped it would be enough. Good guys never die, do they?

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 13 ~ <strong>_**Leaving**_

_**.**_

_[still Stephanie]_

**"Babe, the chopper will be here** in about fifteen minutes. Tank's dropping off Lula to keep you company."

"Okay, but I could drive back to Jersey by myself."

Ranger lounged against the kitchen counter and studied me. He was dressed in khaki cargos and a V-neck grey cashmere sweater, white tee shirt showing at the neck, and light tan suede hiking boots. He looked wonderful, if different.

He said, "I was hoping you and Lula could hang out here for a couple of days. The chopper is also bringing Antonio home. He was injured a few days ago and he really hates hospitals so Jilly talked him into coming here. It would be better if he wasn't alone."

My insides clenched. This was all my fears slammed right in my face. What if Ranger were hurt? Or worse. And scary surfer/ commando Anthony….

"Is he badly injured?"

"He'll survive.''

''Of course I'll stay here but won't he be pissed to have us babysitting him? He's a really scary guy, Ranger.''

''You can just say you and Lula want to hang at the beach and shop at the malls here. He probably won't ask though. He's used to Jilly having houseguests. You don't need to play nurse or anything, just keep an eye on him and if he gets really bad, high fever or whatever, take him to the hospital. Call 911 if he won't go."

_Yeah, right, so he shoots the EMT crew?_ I thought. Ranger had more confidence in my ability to mind Anthony than I did. But I'd try. And I'd have Lula for backup.

I stood up and moved into Ranger's arms. He enfolded me in a warm hug, resting his cheek against the side of my head. I could have stayed in his arms forever, but he finally pulled away and kissed me. He was kissing me goodbye. My heart was breaking….

''Gotta go, babe.''

I too heard the sound of the arriving helicopter.

''No luggage?''

''No. Just...'' He gestured to his weapons duffle by the back door.

We walked over the dunes to where the big military chopper was settling into the sand. Usually the guys landed their smaller corporate helicopters at a nearby marina parking lot. Today, Jilly had taken advantage of the deserted beach and set down right by her house.

The chopper doors opened.

Tank jumped out of the helicopter, followed by Jilly's husband Nick. If Ranger had not been standing beside me I might have thought he _was_ Ranger, the two were so similar in build and coloring.

The men helped Lula to the ground, then Jilly's three little fat pug dogs plopped onto the sand.

_Oh man, I'm dog sitting as well as sniper sitting._

Ranger said, "Antonio likes the little dogs…."

ESP.

Lula and the three dogs started to trudge through the sand. Lula was waving and yelling, "Hi, white girl. Man, my Via Spigas aren't meant for this sand shit."

Then Tank and Nick helped Anthony out of the chopper. Tank supported him with an arm under his shoulders as they approached. When the men got to where we were standing, Anthony shrugged Tank off, saying, "I'm okay, man, enough."

Jilly remained in the pilot's seat but she smiled and waved enthusiastically. Anthony nodded hello, and gave me a brief hug and kiss on each cheek; surprisingly Tank did the same. Last was Nick, who always created the weird vibe of double vision—two Rangers?—until he flipped back his sunglasses and I looked into his light Caribbean blue eyes. Once you saw his eyes any resemblance to Ranger was forgotten. His eyes were strangely beautiful and disconcerting in his dark face, blue as a Siamese cat's eyes, blue as a tropical sea. He too hugged me and gave the double kiss. Our eyes met and held. There was an attraction there, maybe only due to the Ranger clone thing, maybe something else. Not that it would go anywhere, anyway.

I wondered about a _job_ that would involve Nick too. My understanding was that he stayed out of the line of fire, he was an office guy. Not today though. Nick and Tank turned immediately back to the mission at hand, pleasantries over. Ranger and Anthony stepped aside, heads close, faces intent. Ranger rummaged through his duffle checking equipment while Anthony spoke. Their body language relaxed after a few sentences and Ranger appeared to agree to something. The men hugged, to my surprise.

Seconds later Ranger also hugged me and kissed me, first gently, then briefly hot. He drew back, holding my wrist, turning up my palm. He pressed a set of car keys into my hand.

"Have Lula drive my Mercedes back to Trenton. The other black Mercedes is for you. It's an engagement present."

And he gave me another set of keys. "The plates are on order, they should come in a few days. And when you bring my Mercedes to the Haywood garage be sure Lula goes with you. I left something there for her too. It's a surprise, don't spoil it.

"I love you, babe." That smile, those eyes….and he was gone.

**Lula and I stood on the dunes watching** the helicopter lift off. To my surprise Anthony put his arms around me and held me, shielding me from the churning sand and hiding my tears. Hugging Anthony was a real experience. He made Ranger seem under armed (so to speak). He was wearing a grey zip front sweatshirt and yes, ratty cargo shorts. Under the hoodie he was armed with double Glocks in a shoulder holster, with another gun in the waistband of the shorts, and what felt like an Uzi strapped on his back. This was not a cuddly guy despite the buff blond surfer looks, big brown eyes and cute blond dreadlocks. Investment banker, my ass….

Even through my tears I had to laugh. _Damn! Expecting an invasion?_ I thought. I could also feel the bandages all around his middle and wondered what had happened to him. And how? This was not a man who took any chances.

After a moment, he shook me gently and said, "Straighten up and wave. Smile! Do you want Ranger to remember you crying when he left! " His voice was soft but the tone was sharp.

I did stand straight and smiled through my tears. Lula was made of tougher stuff than me; she looked dry-eyed and determined. But her lips were quivering.

"I don't picture Ranger being the type to look back and wave a fond farewell, Anthony."

"Maybe not but Jilly always does a goodbye hover."

The helicopter circled briefly overhead, then it was gone.

**tbc**


	11. Chapters 14 and 15

**Chapter Fourteen ~ **_**Babysitting**_

_**.**_

_[Stephanie]_

_._

**As the helicopter disappeared** in the distance, Anthony headed to the house, herding the doggies with him. I heard him talking to them. Big scary mercenary does baby talk to the dogs.

Lula met my eyes and we smiled. She rushed to me and hugged me. Then she held out her hand, showing me the ring that Tank gave her the day before. I guess Ranger wasn't the only one worried about this "business trip". Lula's ring was wonderful, very Lula, a big sugar pink cushion-cut diamond surrounded by tiny white diamonds.

I showed her the rings that Ranger had given to me and she said, "Tank didn't get our wedding ring yet, he wanted to have it engraved with our wedding date. And you know what, girlfriend! I looked inside this ring, just to see and I said to Tank_, Well then who the hell is this Tiffany girl whose name is on the inside here?"_

I gasped and then my eyes locked with Lula's. She was nodding.

"Yes! That's where he got it. He said him and Ranger went shopping together!_ Sheee-it!_ I almost laughed right in his face. But—imagine that!—my ring is from Tiffany's, can you believe it!"

I could believe it. The pink diamond was gorgeous. And as Ranger's second in command at Rangeman, Tank must be very well paid, maybe even had a piece of the action. But my mental image of Tank and Ranger, shopping at Tiffany's, dressed in their black street clothes, armed to the teeth…? We both started laughing.

"I'm surprised that didn't make the nightly news! Can you just picture it!" I said.

"Tank said your rings came from a jewelry store across the street and that your rings were already engraved. He said Ranger was real fussy about the wording. What do they say? Can you tell me?"

"I didn't know they said anything. Ranger never said…?"

I was superstitious and didn't want to take them off. And I guess I wanted to see Ranger's message to me in private.

... ... ...

**Right now, Lula and I followed Anthony** back to the house. Lula pulled me aside and said, "Girlfriend, are we babysitting Alfalfa, there? He's like to bust our butts, you know. He hot but he got killer eyes."

Lula called Anthony _Alfalfa_ because he wore his blond hair in short little dreadlocks, like Alfalfa from _**The Little Rascals**_, that old comedy show. Way before our time, but still. Anthony was so hot that the weird hairstyle somehow looked cool, not silly. Currently he had it adorned with little colored beads….just like Lula had hers last summer.

I said, "You and he have lots in common. You can talk about hairdos together."

"Hunh, I don't think so. Listen, if we're staying here I gotta get some supplies. Clothes. Make-up. Chocolate. Will you be okay with Mr. Triple X for a few?"

"Sure, take Ranger's car. Do you remember where the stores are? Where the mall is?"

"Yeah and Batman got that GPS shit anyway. I'll be fine."

I handed her the key to the big Mercedes sedan.

When I entered the kitchen, Anthony was bent into the fridge, bottles of pills lined up on the counter beside him.

He said, "Any beer in here?"

He straightened up with a Corona in one hand and popped a handful of pills in his mouth with the other hand. As he raised the beer to his lips to wash down the pills, I said, "Maybe beer doesn't go so great with your meds."

He froze, beer halfway to his mouth, and stared at me with his cold cold, no one's home dark eyes. Then he gulped down half the beer and swallowed the capsules, still staring at me.

My heart froze in my chest.

Killer eyes, just like Lula said.

I said, "Beer is good though, beer is great, enjoy…."

I was babbling.

A moment passed, seemed like years, and then his eyes finally changed—now they showed an unholy glee.

"Are you afraid of me, Steph?"

"No! I am not afraid of you." He grinned, flashing white teeth in his tanned face. "Well, okay, maybe a little."

"Bummer. You should chill. I'd never hurt Ranger's girl, no matter, like, how annoying you are."

"Why am I not reassured, "I answered sarcastically.

He said again, "Chill, babe. Anyways, I'm gonna take a shower and crash."

He had that stoner speak thing going on, kinda like talking to an incredibly hot but scary version of my pal Mooner. Anthony and his personal arsenal walked out, beer in hand. The three little dogs pranced after him, squealing and snorting.

As he headed to the stairs I could hear him cajoling them, "Now I know you guys can get your little booties up these stairs, c'mon, you, like, gotta try, guys. I can't carry you all today, I'm sorry. Oh, okay. Alfie-baby. I'll just lift you up…..C' mon, baby. Man, you gettin' fat, boy!" The pug snorted loudly. Anthony asked him, "Do you have a kiss for me, huh, smooches…..?" He made kissy sounds and the dogs squealed.

_Eeeuw. _

I wasn't sure if the tiny dogs belonged to him or to Jilly, they seemed to be household fixtures though. The pugs were named Alphonso, Popeye, and Rosalita. Alphonso was the baby of the other two, and he was some kind of genetic throwback because he was black. The other two dogs were pale tan with black faces, black curly tails and little black feet. They were adorable in a really ugly way. They were all very tiny and very fat with smushed-in faces and huge buggy black eyes. On the rare occasions that they ventured outside they all wore tiny matching Coach logo-and-leather collars. It seemed impossible that they could be the same species as Morelli's dog Bob, a huge floppy retriever mix. Supposedly the pugs were very smart, could have fooled me.

It was a large house but very quiet and after a few moments I heard a TV go on really loud, MTV blasting and then the shower running. I wanted to ask Anthony if he was supposed to get his bandages wet, but after the beer incident, no way. I sat down at the table and looked over at his bottles of pills. An opportunity to snoop is irresistible so I grabbed them and inspected the labels. One was an antibiotic, one an anti-inflammatory and one a strong pain killer. The labels bore the imprint of a military base hospital, apparently in Germany.

_How odd_, I thought.

The name on the label was Stewart, A R and a string of numbers. And let me see….DOB—he's 27, almost 28? I'd have thought 23, 24 at the most. Once there had been more information on the labels but his military rank and affiliation, if any, had been redacted with black marker.

While I was cogitating the shower had stopped but not the MTV clamor. I decided I better bite the bullet so to speak and go check on my charge. Anthony and Ranger had private suites on the second floor. There was a large living room with a huge TV, pool table, bar and big leather sofas. It faced north and had spectacular views over the salt marshes and bay. On each side were the guys' bedrooms, which were spacious and beautiful, with private decks and sliding glass walls overlooking the beach, one bedroom to the east, the other to the west.

I entered the hall that led to Anthony's room. To the left was a walk-in closet with louvered doors, closed at present. To my right was the bathroom, door open, steam pouring out. It smelled sensuously of expensive shower gel, but thank god not Ranger's Bulgari.

Anthony was perched on the granite vanity counter, swiveled so that he could see his injuries in the mirror. He had a towel around his hips and a first aid kit on the closed toilet seat. His soundproofed, rubber-edged metal ID tags swung on the doorknob and his clothes were heaped in the doorway. The dogs were lined up watching him, faces worried. I knocked softly on the door jamb.

I said quietly, "Need any help here? I'm pretty good with the tape and gauze, been shot a few times myself."

He did one of those weird Ranger-style pauses, no response, then he turned a bit so I could see his injuries for myself.

I gasped and black fog formed before my eyes.

A strong hand shot out to grab me.

"Jeez, Steph. Don't faint. It's not so bad. Maybe you can just wash the stitches down with the antiseptic? I can't reach."

"Um, yeah, sure. Just give me a second, okay? "

I got a grip and took a closer look. Anthony's body was beautiful, quite suntanned even in November, and warm and luscious as a ripe peach. He was muscular but less so than Ranger, and really very thin, maybe too thin. His wrist bones protruded and his ribs showed when he breathed. But he was beautiful. And cutting across all this boyish golden beauty were three huge slashes, cutting from below his ribcage around his hip to his stomach. He must have had a hundred or more black sutures tracking his body like ugly patchwork. The entire mess was red and swollen. The stitches actually looked more painful than the terrible cuts themselves. He also had large purple bruises higher up on his abs and chest. It looked like he had been beaten and slashed. It looked like he needed a good plastic surgeon.

I asked, "How did this happen?" I pushed the towel down a bit more and started gently patting the slashes with betadine-soaked gauze.

"IED—you know, a homemade bomb. I was just in the area, not really working, man. I was wearing a vest but a plate glass window blew out and the glass that didn't hit the flak vest cut me."

"Was the bomb intended for you?"

"Nah. If someone wanted to take me out they'd just, like, shoot me in the head, right.?"

He met my eyes and grinned. I kept busy, now with the Neosporin, spreading it onto large gauze pads that I taped over the wounds.

"You have really beautiful tattoos," I said without thinking.

Anthony's grin got wider and he turned so that I could see the tattoo on his lower back. It was some sort of tribal pattern, Hawaiian or Tahitian, and it ran in geometric curls of blue-black ink from the cleavage of his buttocks, around his backside dimples and over the small of his back. The skin without tattoos looked tanned and enticing, warm with palest gold peach fuzz. I resisted touching him there and stepped back.

I cleared my throat, my mouth suddenly was so dry. "All done."

He turned and I was lost studying his smooth tan chest and washboard abs. He had another tattoo around his navel, a lotus or hibiscus maybe. And he wore a diamond stud in his belly button.

"Steph?"

"Huh?"

Ooops, busted again. I met his eyes, studying his face. His blond dreadlocks had those little clacking wooden beads, the sides of his head were buzzed military short and he wore diamond studs in both ears. There was yet another tattoo, gang-style, but tribal design, on his neck. Normal people don't get tattoos on their necks, it was one of the hardest areas to cover.

He had felt hot when I was bandaging his cuts, perhaps with fever. Now his face suddenly looked very young and exhausted, his handsome features drawn with pain and fatigue. His eyes were dark like Ranger's, and dilated maybe from the meds.

I said, "Maybe you ought to lie down."

He walked to the dresser in his bedroom, pulled out some flowered boxers, dropped his towel and gave me a great glimpse of his cute butt. One cheek was horribly bruised and I gasped again.

"Now what?"

"You have an awful bruise on your butt…."

"Yeah, the medics aren't known for their gentle touch. It's from the antibiotic they shot me up with in the field. It's a miracle I survived."

He was laughing a little, not bothered at all. I looked and found a small bar fridge like Ranger had in his room. I got out a cold bottle of water, set it on the bedside table next to the gun, the pager and the two cell phones.

_These guys! And who uses pagers anymore, anyway?_ I looked around. The Uzi was hanging over a chair. The other gun? I pulled the covers up around Anthony and slid my hand under his pillow removing his extra gun. His hand snaked out and grabbed my wrist painfully.

"Let go of my gun."

"Look, I don't want you to shoot me if I come in later."

"Then stay out, lady."

He took the gun and slipped it back under the pillow. He sighed deeply.

He said, "Can you lift the babies up on the bed, please? And take off their collars? They're not s'posed to wear their collars indoors, it, like, mats their fur…I'm so tired….hurts to breathe….."

He drifted off. I set the little dogs at his feet. They scurried around but then settled. I picked up the remote to turn off the television.

"And leave the TV on," Anthony ordered.

_Jeez…._

I tiptoed out.

...

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Fifteen ~ Anthony's Version of events <strong>_

_[Anthony]_

**So, like okay, Ranger sprung me from the hospital in Germany**, on the grounds that I would promise to stay at Jilly's place to recuperate. I said, _Sure no problemo_... but man, uh,what's up with that anyway? I rummaged around in my mind to see what Ranger was thinking but he was blocking. Fuck. I closed my eyes and dozed off, drugged to the gills with pain meds.

At some point we changed rides, from my private jet to a military heli. My bossy freakin' sister appeared. As if I cared.

Years later the chopper settled down on the sand. The change in the engine noise woke me up and I very carefully set the doggy I was holding down on the floor of the heli. Alphonso doesn't much like to fly. The other two dogs were older, they were used to it, if less than pleased. All three gave me the pug glare and I shrugged. Ouch, big mistake. My torso felt like it was on fire, hundreds of tiny needle pricks drilling painfully. Oh wait, I do have hundreds of needle pricks, don't I—what, 300 stitches? My head swam and my vision went black and spotty. I felt a warm hand on my upper arm, and heard Tank saying, "Are you okay, man?"

"Sure, no problem," I lied fluently.

But it took both Tank and Nick to get me out of the chopper and on my own feet. Tank held me up as we approached Ranger and the two women.

Ranger locked eyes with me. I felt _him_ ask, _Are you okay?_

I did the mini nod thing.

He smiled at me and his warmth and peaceful calm washed over me. God, I love Ranger. He is like drugs, only better. He radiated strength and power towards me and by the time we got to Ranger and the girls, I was walking fine. I shrugged off Tank's arm, saying out loud, "I'm okay, man."

Ranger tipped his chin at me in greeting. Thank god he didn't hug me, I'd have screamed like a little girl.

I turned to Ranger's girlfriend, I'd met her last summer, once or twice this fall….beautiful girl, very hot. Oh yeah, Stephanie. I kissed her on both cheeks and did a no-body-contact hug. Same with Lula. Lula was so cute! I can see why Tank is smitten, she's a riot, very sexy but an inner core of strength.

Not so sure about Stephanie. She watched Ranger leave, eyes full of tears, lips quivering. You can't cry whenever Ranger goes because, you know, that's what he does, it's his thing. In fact I pulled him aside and tried to talk him out of this gig, but no.

Yelling over the din of the chopper rotors Ranger said, "It's just a job."

"It is so NOT just a job. It is almost certain death."

"It's my job, Anthony."

"Shit, Ranger, all our lives you been running towards the apocalypse, sounding like some comic book hero, trying to bullshit your way into an early grave while babbling about _It's my fuckin' job."_

He feigned unconcern, said, "Rangeman takes the suicide jobs, _hermano_. That's what we get paid for."

Frustrated I yelled over the noise, "Like, the buck stops with you."

"Exactly. It _is_ my job, it's why I get the big bucks."

"Difference is—this time you won't be coming home to spend your big bucks. Just a flag and a grave. If you're lucky."

He said, "Prob'ly not a flag. Why is everyone fixated on the flag thing?"

I was not amused. Like me he has a drawer full of fancy combat medals and he definitely deserves a flag. But still.

"You know what they say," said my brother. "The best defense is a good offense."

I stared. "You got that wrong, man. Can you say "bullshit", _bro_?"

Ranger slung his weapons case onto his shoulder. This time he did hug me, but carefully.

I didn't scream. Or cry.

He said, "See you on the other side." _I love you._

"Yeah….." _I love you too._

Our eyes locked for long moments. Finally I said, "Ranger. I'm going with. Just give me a few days, okay?"

He just nodded a little but his eyes said it all.

Moments later Ranger walked away, maybe for the last time. I put my arms around Stephanie, turning her from the blowing sand, shielding her face into my shoulder. Her arms came gently around my waist, kinda fumbled with my weapons, but managed to hug me without hurting me. Her hands just skimmed my bandages, no pressure.

I felt it then—the zing—what Ranger felt for her. And my heart ached, for all of us. But I set her away and said, "Stand up and smile and wave! Do you want Ranger to remember you crying!"

She said, "Somehow Ranger doesn't strike me as the _wave a fond farewell_ type, Anthony."

_Ooooh, sarcasm, good._

Jilly brought the chopper around, she always does a bye-bye circle, she's such a girl….and I turned and called the doggies, walking off towards the house. As the pugs and I walked over the dune bridge, I heard Lula squealing, then Stephanie's low voice.

Beer. I wanted a beer and a hot shower, and about twenty hours to sleep, drugged to the max.

Steph popped into the kitchen, babbling to me about not drinking beer with the pain meds. I stared at her thinking, _what the fuck is this about, what am I like six years old or what._

I must have looked meaner than I intended because her face changed and all of a sudden she looked scared to death. Poor baby. I wanted to reassure her but I figured I'd be lucky if I made it to my bedroom. I'd talk to her later….

The shower felt great if painful. I finally thought most of the mid-east sand was washed out of my pores. Funny how I never mind the sand from my own beach here….

Steph's soft, hesitant voice said, "Do you need any help? I'm pretty good with bandages, been shot a few times myself."

I froze, trying to see her face in the fogged up mirror. She thought I had a gunshot wound? I hoped she didn't puke when she got a good look, shrapnel with glass makes a mess of one's skin.

Finally I turned enough so that she could see my injuries. Her eyes tracked down my body and her face went dead white, her eyes huge and terrified. I reached out and caught her wrist.

"Jeez, don't faint.''

She got a grip—she had guts, I admit. And said, ''What happened to you?''

I explained very briefly, handing her the antiseptic wash to rinse the slashes. She worked very carefully, trying hard not to hurt me any worse than I already was hurting. So I had to act like it was okay, as she carefully finished with the ointment and gauze and the tape. I watched her face in the mirror to distract myself. She really was adorable, I could tell just when she stopped frowning over my cuts and started noticing my body, the rest of my body, I mean.

I caught a brief thought as her instinctive guard slipped, she thought I'd need a good plastic surgeon! I guess to fix up these scars later. And she thought I was beautiful, so sweet. She hadn't noticed that I look like Ranger yet though.

I turned to look at her face to face. Our eyes met, then hers drifted to my mouth, then my chest and tattoos, then back to my eyes. For a second she was looking _at_ my eyes not _into_ my eyes and it clicked.

She thought, _He has Ranger's eyes, how odd. And Ranger's smile._

I slipped by her and put on my boxers, collapsed into the bed. I watched her as she set out a drink for me and tucked my doggies into bed with me.

_What was the deal here?_ I wondered. This woman was sexy and beautiful and my brother loved her beyond words, beyond thought. _And—and, what, Ranger? Am I going to love her too, is that what you want? _

I again felt around for Ranger in my head but he was not there, his thoughts were focused elsewhere, or the pain pills were fouling up my abilities. I drifted off to sleep as the meds took the pain away to a bearable level. Finally I slept.

... ... ...

.

_[Stephanie] _

**.**

**Late that night I carefully removed** the two diamond rings and peered inside the bands.

The engagement ring read: _**the Truth is**_

And the wedding ring said: _**I love you Babe**_

No qualifiers this time. I slid them back onto my finger and wondered what jewelry store was across from Tiffany's. All I could picture was the Plaza Hotel. I would find out later in the week when I could check out the computers at Rangeman, I figured. I may be in love but I am still nosy.

tbc


	12. Chapter 16

A/Ns: This is a BABE HEA, pls don't get worried with this chapter! And thanks for reading and reviewing! Enjoy!

PS I put a YouTube thing with pugs on my profile page, in case anyone isn't sure what pug is,lol.

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><p><strong>Chapter Sixteen ~ If a Kiss is Just a Kiss: <em>Again? <em>**

**_._**

_[S__tephanie]_

**Lula returned victorious from the mall.** We hung out, read, napped til sunset. Anthony's meds had said every six hours, and I thought the dogs must need to eat and do doggy stuff outdoors. I knew they were unable to come downstairs by themselves, their legs are too little, their tummies too fat. I opened a can of chicken noodle soup, shook out the pills onto a saucer and tiptoed off towards to the lion's den.

Lula looked up from the Sunday Times _Style_ section and asked, "Need any backup?"

"No but if you hear gunshots or screaming, bring your stun gun."

... ... ...

**The big bedroom was dim,** lurid lights flashing from the TV. At some point Anthony had switched the channel to golf, so the sound was annoying but not raucous. I dialed some lights on with the high tech dimmer by the door and approached the bed slowly. He was sprawled on his back, eyes closed, breathing slowly, right hand visible. The tiny dogs were nestled close, snuggled against his waist and hip. They looked at me but didn't move or bark. I finally reached out and touched Anthony's shoulder and, like a rattlesnake striking, faster than my eyes could comprehend, his left hand emerged from under the pillow with his gun pointed dead between my eyes.

There was a pause as we stared at each other, then he flicked the safety back on and put the gun back under his pillow.

He grinned. "Ooops."

"Geez. So….um….I brought your meds and some soup. The soup is from a can so it's probably safe to eat. I thought the dogs might want to go out?''

Anthony's eyebrows raised a fraction. "The soup is safe 'cause you didn't poison it, or are you just a famous bad cook?''

"I don't cook at all, Anthony. I dial."

"Good to know."

I proffered the tray with the soup and the pills, handed him the bottled water. He painfully tried to sit up, but sort of settled back down in defeat.

I cautiously asked him, "Maybe it would be okay if I helped a little?"

Miniscule chin jerk, guess that's a yes. I plumped the pillows up behind him and helped him scootch up into sitting position. He looked white around the mouth. I got the idea I'd waited too long with the pain pills, but he didn't feel too feverish.

"Like, pull up a seat," he said, gesturing to the edge of the bed by his knees. I hesitated, then sat, watching him spoon up the soup with a grimace. I noticed he was left-handed. After a few bites, he gave up and started fishing out noodles with his fingers, offering the noodles to the dogs who lined up in a row and sat up and begged. Cute.

"I really hate soup, sorry," he told me.

"Can I get you something else to eat?"

"Maybe just more water? I'm, like, real thirsty."

I handed him the water bottle. He sighed and leaned back, long lashes drooping over his eyes.

"Stay and keep me company?" he mumbled.

"I gotta feed the dogs, I think."

He dozed off immediately. I tried to move the pugs, but they somehow turned themselves into tiny sacks of cement and refused to leave the bed. I don't know how smart they are, but they sure were loyal, their velvet monkey faces scrunched up with worry. They wouldn't budge until Anthony roused himself and told them it was time for _din-din._ He saw the look on my face and smiled. He actually had a beautiful smile, amazing.

He said, "Hey, not my fault. They have the vocabulary and language comprehension of a three year old child, but you have to talk to them in their own language, it's what they know."

I said, "That's so scary! Are they really as smart as a 3 year old?''

''Probably smarter. All three year olds aren't potty trained, you know.''

"No, I don't know, don't want to know!" I answered.

He closed his eyes again. "G'nite, Steph."

I lugged the dogs downstairs thinking he sometimes sounded different. And that smile….

... ...

**With Anthony in the bed upstairs** I somehow didn't miss Ranger as much as I thought I would, though I resolutely refused to examine the reasons why. Anthony recuperated over the next couple days, almost always with the pounding blast of MTV or the creepy whisper of golf going. Lula played cards with him but she swore he cheated, saying he counted the deck discards. She brought him a present one afternoon, bought during one of her forays to the local mall. It was a khaki baseball hat that had khaki writing embroidered across the front. It said ARMY in big block letters.

Lula told him solemnly, "It's for good luck."

Anthony smiled at Lula, then drew her in for a hug. She responded with care, cautious with his injuries.

I am a famously bad card player so I confined myself to what I hoped was subtle snooping about his, and maybe Ranger's, pasts.

One afternoon I asked him, "Did you go to high school out here?"

He replied neutrally, "No. I didn't go to high school….''

''How is that possible? Didn't your parents make you go? Isn't there a law?"

"The school said they couldn't teach me anything." He grinned. " I was a problem, what can I say….I was a bad kid, lived to surf and golf, did some computer stuff, uh, some hacking …. Smoked dope and partied. So, no high school. I, like, dropped out."

"Is that why you joined the army?"

"Uh, no …."

... ... ...

**By Tuesday afternoon he was spending **a lot of time on the phone and on his laptop, even though he mostly stayed in bed. I thought he was still in a lot of pain, but he began refusing the pain meds by the second day. I'd hear him talking on his cell phone but nothing was comprehensible, it all seemed about complex financial wheeling and dealing. His voice would change immediately, he sounded authoritative and adult, no stoner high school dropout here.

He sounded like—the boss. Actually, he sounded like Ranger.

I had gone up to see if he wanted pizza or subs for dinner—as far as I could tell he hardly ate. He was dressed only in madras plaid Ralph Lauren boxers and he was pacing and talking to someone, saying he could be on the job in 24. I turned to leave but he flipped his phone shut and grabbed my wrist.

"Stay, Steph, please…."

I no longer totally thought he would shoot me, so I gave in and said, "Are you really up to going to work?"

He lowered himself carefully to the bed. Minimal shrug. "Guess what, Steph?"

"What?"

"I have a mom already…."

I did my best pissy look and we both laughed. I sat down on the edge of his big bed.

Anthony said, "No, really, thanks for hanging out. Lula too. It's cool, I appreciated it. But don't mother me. I may look cute and cuddly but I'm not."

As he spoke he brushed his hand down my cheek and into my hair. Our eyes met, held. Anthony hesitated, his eyes dropping to my mouth. The moment extended as he paused, then he leaned in and brushed my lips gently, whispering _Thank you_, then he kissed me again deeper, hot, his tongue touching mine. He drew back, just a fraction. I could feel his warm breath on my face. I could feel the heat of his body, just barely touching mine. He kissed me yet again, his mouth forcing mine open, his tongue tracing my upper lip, then intimately entering my mouth. His hand caressed my breast, my nipple hard under his gentle touch. I surrendered to his heat, his passion, the allure of his golden boy's body—just for an endless moment in time.

He pulled me down to the bed and rolled on top of me. He was heavy, bigger than he looked. His hands cupped my face as the kisses continued_. I'm losing my mind_, I thought wildly. I wanted more, but he drew back, just a bit, more mental than physical. I gasped….

Then I pulled away. I was shocked. I was attracted to his beauty, but there was something else, something confusing—the black eyes so like Ranger's, the smile, the voice, the kisses. Kissing Anthony felt like kissing Ranger.

He drew back, expressionless, his face only a few inches from mine. A faint frown.

I pushed him away, still trying to be gentle. "Are you crazy! Ranger would kill you for that!"

His eyes said, _why did you let me then?_ But after a moment he nodded and said softly, "He would understand."

"No he would not! And I don't either!"

"Sure you do." He sounded exactly like Ranger. We glared at each other.

Finally he gave a faint nod, said, "I'm sorry, Steph. It won't happen again. Not that I'm scared of Ranger!"

"And you are NOT cute and cuddly. Jeez…." Referring to his statement that started this all.

And he flashed me the famous 1000 watt grin. It looked strange on his somewhat lighter complexioned face.

tbc


	13. Chapter 17

a/n Thank you for reading and reviewing.

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><p><strong>Chapter Seventeen ~ <em>Once Upon a Time<em>**

**_._**

_[Stephanie]_

**The following morning Anthony appeared** in the kitchen, fully dressed in his raggy cargo shorts and ancient grey hoodie. Weapons. Flipflops. In November! Clearly any money he made as a banker did not trickle down to his wardrobe. But he was clean and shaved and smelled delicious, so somehow he looked hot despite the homeless surfer/ beach bum clothes.

"Coffee?" I offered. He shook his head and gulped down a caffeinated diet Coke. The classic geek breakfast made me smile.

He crumpled the can and threw it in the recycling bin, grabbed my wrist. "Let's go for a walk, staying indoors gives me the heebie-jeebies."

I grabbed a sweatshirt and we hiked over the dunes in silence. Déjà vu all over again, just like my beach walk with Ranger a few days ago. Anthony's silence was peaceful though, his body visibly relaxing as we neared the water.

After awhile, Anthony gestured back towards the dunes and said, "Before 9/11 you could stand on the dunes and see the World Trade Center Towers, all the way from here. We always loved looking at them…." His voice trailed off.

Pause. Silence.

Then he said, "Okay, a short family history, like you know—Cliff Notes?—, 'cause who knows, Ranger may never tell you."

He added, "You know, Steph, Ranger is hot and has that power thing going and you love him, I love him, but he is like the least verbal man on earth and he eats only healthy food and gets up at the crack of dawn to run ten miles and he works 18 hours a day and he's really pretty annoying. I may look better to you after a year or two with Ranger and the health food. Tofu anyone? Side of sushi?"

We cracked up, and I punched his arm.

"Ow!''

''Pussy!'' I teased.

"Be nice or I won't tell you the story!"

"Pleeeeeese?"

... ... ...

**He took my hand in his warm callused** hand and seemed to gather his thoughts. Then he began, his words careful, almost all of his stoner verbal quirks unused. "First of all, even though I don't mean to be apologizing for our parents, such as they are—you have to remember we're the kids, even Ranger. How they were, what they did, what they do now...it's not our fault.

"So please try not to judge us."

"I hope I would never!" I said indignantly.

"Maybe. But you have that good Catholic girl thing going, so who knows."

"Just tell me!"

"Okay, it's back in the 70's. Vietnam is winding down, the Cold War is still going strong. Two young men from wealthy international banking families meet at Harvard and become close friends. One is Edward Stewart, WASP-y old-time investment bank with ties to Great Britain and Europe. Lots of Swiss connections. The other guy is Robert, or Roberto, Mann, who is of Cuban-American descent. His name has been anglicized from the Cuban name Manoso. The family is based in Miami, of course, Their area of banking is Caribbean, Latin American, Brazilian, with Cayman Island connections. Both young men are being groomed to take over the family businesses.

The young men make a plan, _Let's unite our banks and be twice as powerful with half the effort._ They carry on with their educations, their goals firmly in mind. As they enter their last years at Harvard, they are approached by—scouts, shall we say?—who are recruiting young men for the CIA. Eddie and Bobby are bored, wealthy, and clueless and they happily sign on as operatives. They go to grad school and also go to Europe, to South America. They gather intel. They have a ball. They think they're James fucking Bond.

Robert Mann, aka Bobby Manoso, is the wilder of the two. He's a player, what they called a playboy back then? He is a handsome charismatic young man. Women adore him. While he is at Harvard Business School, he meets a young woman who intrigues him. She is different, not a playgirl, not a sorority airhead. She tells him she comes from a nice well-to-do NYC family. She is in premed at Harvard. Her name is Elizabeth Reynolds, or at least that is the name she gives him. She wants to be a surgeon and she has no interest in a liaison with a player like Bobby. Incensed, Robert leaves for a CIA op in Germany. He meets a gorgeous West German model, age 19. She is blonde, sky blue eyes. They have a fling.

"It was still that free love era, multiple partners, supposedly no hang-ups ...and I guess Roberto was careless or uncaring ...I don't know.

"In Berlin a few months later, Dominic Michael Mann is born. Tragically, when the baby in Europe is 4 months old, his mother is killed in an accident on the German autobahn. Robert, saddened with the loss of his child's mother, returns to Boston, looks up the serious girl he admired so much."

Anthony paused for a second, lost in thought. He went on, "I think Roberto and Elizabeth were more good friends than romantic lovers. But this time when he presses her for marriage, for reasons of her own, she agrees. They get married and arrange to adopt the child in Europe. That child is Nick.

''Elizabeth is only 22, 23? when Ranger is born. She may have wanted to be a good mother, but she is busy and distracted, her medical career is the center of her world. To her credit she treats both boys as her sons as does Robert Mann. The boys are essentially raised by their father who is a warm and loving man, a man who has that big warm Cuban heart and by a series of nannies and bodyguards. The boys are attractive, athletic, smart. Bobby is a proud papa.

"Edward Stewart meanwhile has married a young artist, a designer. She is talented and already becoming a success. She has her first child, Julianne, around the same time when Nick is born. A couple years later she has a son, Anthony Robert."

"You?" I asked.

"Yeah. So he's a cute kid and very smart but sometimes a discerning person might notice he looks more like her husband's best friend and business partner and not so much like Edward. Maybe it's the always tan skin, or the dark Latino eyes….No one in the inner circle of the two families asks or tells. It's not an issue for them, the four friends."

"How could it not be an issue?" I demanded.

Anthony shrugged."You can't make people like they were, are, be conventional. None of the parents, not even Ranger's mom, are big on following what they think are silly bourgeois rules. They were happy. Are happy. Best friends, and so on. So-not my _problemo_, right?"

"Go on."

"So Edward too is a great dad and Olivia is a wonderful mother who often takes in the two boys whose mother is busy with med school or her residency or— there's always something.

"Jilly and Nick are inseparable from birth. Despite growing up together, they are _not_ related in any way. And they love each other. Nick is the son of Robert and Bettina, the German model. Jilly is the child of Edward and Olivai Stewart.

"Jilly and Nick married. Their lives are perfect. Ranger married and divorced, it was a disaster. The younger generation got involved in complex "stuff". Maybe it was my fault? Or maybe it was meant to be.

"By early 2001 the fathers, Edward and Robert, though still quite young, 50's-ish, had decided they wanted to retire, stop the CIA gig, let the kids run the bank and they wanted to move to Maui and hang out. Olivia was cool to go; Elizabeth refused—no surprise there—but nothing was decided. On September 11, 2001, it was a beautiful morning. Jilly was, ah, offshore. Ranger and I were in —away—doing something. Nick stayed home to take Izabella to her first day at preschool."

He was starting to hesitate.

"So, um, so, um, Nick wasn't in the office. M/S World is an investment bank, international banking. The offices were on the 102th floor of the North Tower of the World Trade Center. The first plane hit at like 9 AM. Our fathers—Edward was always my _dad_, he was a great dad, taught me to surf, to golf…"

I noticed Anthony couldn't make himself tell me the final words. He forced himself to focus and went on,

"Anyway, our dads, uh, probably, maybe, died immediately when the first plane hit. There was no hope ever, but Nick stood here on the deck at Jilly's house and watched the Towers burn and fall. We were on a sat phone with him, he called us. Me and Ranger.

"We were all called up to temporary active duty and were sent immediately to war in Iraq. We served about four months before we were sent back to our, ah... less visible duty. Lots of action. You must have met Ranger not long after he got back from Iraq,

"Ranger wasn't really supposed to make a fortune running Rangeman. But all that education and brains and ambition…..and security is big business nowadays...You know the rest, right?"

I held his warm hand and thought it all over. "That's a heck of a story, Anthony.''

Thinking_, maybe the military part is just a little bit hazy and obscure._ Without Anthony telling me, I understood that he was in fact instructed by Ranger to give me this information. Anthony would never say a word to me unless told to do so by Ranger. He'd been designated the spokesman. Why? To save Ranger from having to, god forbid, do so much talking? Ranger can't confide? I was slightly pissed off.

I asked, "Is it true? This family story?"

He gave me the black-eyed Manoso stare. "It could be true."

"So, it's NOT true?"

"Stephanie, it all happened before I was born! It's as true as I could, like, make it, babe."

"Is that like when Ranger says something _can _be true if I think it is?"

"Absolutely."

I refrained from smacking him. But it was difficult. I changed the subject."Did you always know Ranger was your brother?"

"I guess not, but we were all so close anyway. By the time we were teenagers we knew, I think. But we don't discuss it."

"You don't discuss it?"

"No, what is there to say?"

"Heaven forbid you guys should have a discussion!"

"Conversation is very overrated. We understand each other."

"Hunh."

tbc


	14. Chapter 18, 19

Chapter Eighteen ~ _Jersey?_

_._

_[Stephanie]_

_._

**It was very late, or very early, **depending on how you look at these things. One AM. I couldn't sleep and was headed to the kitchen for a snack. As I tiptoed through the dark silent house, headlights flashed outside. This house is located on a dead end street, on a very short block, no reason for anyone to be using the driveway to turn around_. Maybe kids sneaking onto the beach?_ I thought. I peeked out the windows that flanked the front double doors.

A cheap American sedan with government plates was parked out front and a man approached the door. I opened the coat closet and lifted down the sawed-off shotgun that Ranger had placed on a high shelf. He removed it from his car before he left, saying, _Just a precaution…._

The man knocked softly on the door instead of ringing the bell. I cracked the door, chain on, shotgun held hidden behind the door.

"Yes?"

The man badged me and said, "FBI. I'm here to see Anthony Stewart."

"Wait on the porch," I said. And closed, locked and chained the door. Anthony had not said anyone was expected tonight. Best to be careful.

I ran upstairs, then slowed, entering Anthony's room with caution.

As I approached the bed where he lay sleeping, I heard the ratchet of his Glock clip being engaged and he said, "Drop the shotgun. Now!"

I froze.

The lights flicked on and our eyes met.

"Geez…." I was shaking.

His were like black ice. He repeated, "Drop it!"

I leaned over and carefully set the shotgun on the carpet. I took a deep quavering breath and said, "There's a guy downstairs at the door looking for you. Driving a car with government plates, has a badge."

"Is that why you have Ranger's gun?"

"Yes."

"Steph. Not a good idea to sneak up on me while I'm sleeping, especially carrying a gun."

"Sorry." I was trying not to cry.

"Me, too," he said softly.

Anthony got up, moving stiffly. I could tell his injuries hurt him a lot still. He got dressed in khaki cargo shorts and a longsleeved t-shirt, sliding his handgun into the small of his back. He picked up the shotgun and motioned me ahead of him, to go downstairs.

As we entered the dining room I realized I smelled coffee and heard the coffee machine gurgling. The kitchen lights were on. The fed was making himself at home, head in the fridge.

As we entered the room he looked up and said, ''Man, I m starved! Any chance of getting something to eat in this place?''

I said, ''How did you get in?''

Behind me, Anthony said, ''Steph doesn't cook, man. ''

The FBI agent straightened up, hands on hips. He was short and potbellied, cheap Wal-Mart suit, bad shoes, worse tie. Greased back hair. Crooked horn-rimmed glasses. _Not a pretty sight,_ I thought.

He said, "Women these days! They don't cook, they don't clean, they don't fuck, fer chrissakes….what good are they?''

He had an unattractively heavy Jersey accent, too. Ick

There was a moment of frozen silence while I contemplated grabbing the shotgun and shooting the smirk off his stupid face, but then I cracked up.

''Lenny Gruber!''

He said, ''You know Lenny Gruber?'' He was smiling now.

I grinned. "Great imitation of him. "

Anthony set the shotgun on the table and said, "Who's Lenny Gruber?"

"Scumbag repo guy in Jersey."

Anthony looked vague, that slightly clueless look that he and Ranger both got now and then. It was adorable but weird on their street-smart faces. He said, "New Jersey?"

"Yes, Anthony, New Jersey," said the fed. "You are such a New Yorker."

I said, "He towed my Miata! I'll never forgive him! How do you know Lenny Gruber? "

But the guy just laughed.

Anthony did his minimalist shrug, New Jersey was not on his personal map, I guess. He said, "Steph, this is Special Agent Ed Wilson, FBI. Stephanie Plum."

The fed looked briefly taken aback. He'd started to extend his hand, but instead when he heard my name, he hugged me warmly and gave me a double cheek kiss. Eeeeew.

"Ranger's girl, eh? Great to meet you finally."

Anthony was unloading the fridge, getting out bacon and eggs, searching for pans. He set out mugs and poured coffee.

"Omelets okay? Oh, and this is Lula."

Lula had come down to see what was going on. Again the social hug/ kiss routine. Lula looked less than thrilled.

She asked me, "Is this guy a cop?"

"FBI."

"Hunh." She looked like she was considering going back to bed, but after a moment she gently moved Anthony aside and said, "I can cook."

He smiled at her. "Thanks."

"You sit, boy," Lula scolded. "You should be in bed! You need to rest."

Anthony said, "I'll sleep when I'm dead."

The fed said, "Actually….That brings us to the reason I'm here, pal." And he opened a briefcase, removed a laptop. He turned it on and swiveled the screen around for Anthony to read.

Anthony read, scrolled, read, scrolled, nodded and said, "When?"

"Oh four hundred."

"Oh man…"

"You can sleep on the plane."

"Yeah, right."

"You don't have to fly the fuckin' plane. We'll get a pilot."

Anthony stared at him.

...

**We ate the food that Lula prepared**. She was a good cook, I never knew.

Anthony pushed back his chair finally and said, "I'll get ready." And he left the room. I heard him talking to the little dogs who were waiting for him at the head of the stairs.

The fed guy stood up and stared rinsing dishes and loading the dishwasher. He had removed his cheap suit jacket and polyester tie. His wrinkled white dress shirt was untucked and unbuttoned, his ugly glasses on the table by the laptop. After he closed the dishwasher, he stood looking out the window at the moonlit beach. Stretched and ruffled his hair, then leaned against the counter sipping his coffee.

Lula and I were staring at him.

Lula said, "How do you do that?"

He looked up and smiled, "What?"

"Twenty minutes ago you were a short, potbellied creep. Now you're…." And she gestured.

He grinned wider.

I looked closely too. He was actually fairly tall, slim, well-built. Young. Nice pecs and abs displayed under the tight grey ARMY wifebeater he wore under his now unbuttoned dress shirt. His hair was short, blond and spiky, not greased-with-Vitalis looking. He had beautiful blue eyes and a nice smile, he was …..how was this possible? …..hot.

I said, "You got a real name, _Ed_?"

"Ed the Fed." He laughed.

I gave him a Burg stare. "Right."

He caved and told us, "Christopher...Chris?"

"Are you one of Ranger's guys?"

"Not exactly…but yeah, I guess you could say that I am."

"You're no FBI agent."

"I might be...in my day job?" Then he looked at Lula, then me, and added, "It's acting, we learn personas. One of mine is _nerdy fed_."

And he slouched again, morphing back into the shapeless agent we met earlier.

"That is amazing!"

"Yeah I'm good," he grinned. I noticed he'd lost the heavy Jersey accent and was using the clipped educated East Coast speech that Ranger slipped into sometimes.

"Do you all do personas?" I asked.

"Well, I'm the best 'cause I have the white bread looks to pull it off. Someone like Ranger, well, he can't do that. The boss don't fade into the woodwork, right? I mean, you know the man...But he does different things: ghetto thug; Latino businessman. Cubano playboy. He's good—shit, he is _great—_but he's very memorable, not great for certain types of undercover. And a lotta people know Ranger."

Never one to miss a chance to snoop, I asked, "What about Nick?"

"You know, Nick is a banker. _Really_. But he does a good Ranger, wears brown contacts, talks ghetto. Wears black."

_Hmmm._

"Does Ranger do him?"

"He can but the blue contacts look fake so, again, he can get made. Ranger is Ranger, there is only one guy who looks like that. He has that _aura_, you know?"

"And Anthony?"

"He's a banker too, you do realize that? And his work for the "group", shall we call it that?—is usually more—how can I say this—long range in nature. Hands-on, but from a remove?"

"He's a sniper. We know that."

"Yeah, right. He does do the stoner guy, but that's sort of really him. The surfer. No one is like me, I'm the invisible man. No one sees me or remembers me.''

''Are you really an FBI agent?''

Blank stare.

"I didn't think so."

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Nineteen <em>~ More Goodbyes<em>**

_._

_[still Steph]_

_._

**Anthony came back into the kitchen**, said to Chris, "Giving away all our secrets, man? Bummer."

Chris yawned. "Need a lift to the marina? The chopper will be here in an hour or so. I can stay and wait, drive you."

"Nah, you go on. The girls will take me."

After Chris left, the three of us sat at the table drinking coffee, saying nothing. Anthony looked pale and exhausted but I knew better than to comment. He rubbed his hands over his face and into his hair. When the little beads clacked, he made a face and started slowly pulling them off his dreadlocks. It looked like it was painful for him to raise his arms.

Lula came and stood behind him, saying, "Let me." And she carefully took the beads out, placing them in his hand one by one.

"All done, Alfalfa." She gave him a little kiss on the top of his head and he smiled. After a moment he looked at me and motioned to the laptop that "Ed" had left.

"I have to go, Steph. Ranger needs me there. He wouldn't ask if it wasn't necessary. I'll be okay, please don't worry. It's what I do. It's what we do, our job...And I promised."

"The guy who just left says you really are an investment banker."

"There's all kinds of banks, babe. And all kinds of investments."

And the thousand watt grin.

...

**A few minutes later, he pushed his coffee** mug aside and said, "Well, which of you ladies wants to take me to the marina?"

"We'll both go, okay?"

He nodded and headed to the garage, choosing the red Jeep Wrangler with its top down. We piled in, heater blasting. It was, after all, the predawn hours of late November. Cold and windy and dark.

Anthony was dressed in light desert camouflage shorts, hiking boots, and a lined no-color grey windbreaker over a white tank top and the old grey Billabong hoodie he so loved. He wore a black baseball hat and carried the high tech rifle case. He was wearing his ID tags and his diamond ear studs and presumably his diamond bellybutton stud. He had a platinum Rolex on his right wrist. It had tiny diamonds on the dial and they twinkled under the streetlights as he shifted gears.

We drove the half mile to the local marina, deserted at this hour. We all got out and leaned against the Jeep, waiting.

I said, "What about the dogs?"

"Oh. Um. I told them I'd be back...Can you drop them off at my mom's house? I'll call her and tell her to expect you. Her house is just a few blocks from here."

My brain reeled a little with the idea that his mother lived right here and had not come to check up on her injured child. But all I dared to say was, "Anthony, it's 4 AM."

He smiled. "She's my mom, she won't mind….Hey, mom. No I'm fine. I gotta go out with Ranger though. Yeah…we're meeting up. Dunno, mom. Listen, my friends are gonna drop off the babies in the morning, okay? No, not too early, I promise. Love you too….

"My mom's not an early riser…." he told me and Lula. He rummaged around for paper and pen, writing his mother's info for us as a big, noisy helicopter landed. He reached into the car and pulled out the hat that Lula gave him, handing me the black hat that he was wearing.

"Got my lucky hat, Lula!"

A soldier in military fatigues got out and stood at attention by the chopper.

Anthony said, "I hate when they do that," then he hugged us both tightly, kissed our cheeks, and walked to the helicopter. The soldier saluted briskly, getting only a vague nod from Anthony who handed over his gun case for storage in the cargo bay.

He never looked back, but Lula and I stood and watched him leave, til the chopper was a tiny speck of pulsing lights, then was lost in the night sky.

Lula said, "That was awesome, in a scary way."

"Yeah."

She added, "We're not gonna cry, are we?"

"No," I said and we both sniffled and wiped our faces on our sleeves.

The hat that he hadn't taken was black with an embroidered logo on the front. I flipped on the door light of the jeep and looked closer. It had the Army Rangers symbol surrounded by the words US ARMY 75th Airborne in black. Below that it said in blue Delta Force. On one side was a tiny American flag.

I wanted to cry….but I didn't. I prayed instead, for all the guys, for Ranger.

* * *

><p><strong>Anthony's report<strong>

**.**

_[Anthony pov]_

**A day later I am back in Iraq—**sounds like a bad song title…and a few days after that I am doing the sharpshooter thing, helping Ranger with another one of his suicide gigs. Adrenaline junkies. That's what we are.

Ranger really needs to settle down if he wants a life with Stephanie. But I guess Ranger would rather die than lead a safe, dull life, I dunno.

I look through my scope. Okay, got the baddie in my crosshairs. I feel Ranger's soft voice in my head.

He says, _Okay?_

I say, _10-4._

And 'hear' Lester say, _10-4._

Ranger counts aloud, "4, 3, 2-."

We pull the triggers of our rifles.

The smoke clears and we can tell it's all over except the partying. Suicide mission, my ass. Ranger is smiling, all zillion watts. Lester and I smile back at him, I guess we have enough watts to light up Baghdad during an air raid. _Mission accomplished, dudes. Let's go home_.

_Breaking news, film at eleven….._

* * *

><p><em>tbc<em>


	15. Chapters 20 and 21

a/n Thank you for all the reviews and comments and PMs! I love hearing from you all. Thx!

a/n The Plums' discussion of Ranger's ethnicity, in Ch 21, is not intended to offend and does not reflect my personal feelings; but is how I imagine Stephanie's family reacting to events:

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twenty ~ <em>Define 'Home' <em>**

**_._**

_[Stephanie]_

**_. _**

**That Tuesday, after Anthony left**, we went back to Trenton at midday. We dropped the dogs off with Anthony and Jilly's mother, who, to my amazement, lived only a short distance from Jilly.

When I politely expressed some surprise she smiled at me and told me, "I don't hover." Olivia Stewart was tall, slim and blonde; she looked very young, hard to think of her as anyone's mom. Like her son she wore khaki shorts despite it being November. "It's a beach thing, honey," she told me when she noticed me eying her perfectly waxed long bare legs. She lived in an enormous white oceanfront house with soaring views. And she was an artist.

Anthony and Jilly's mother opened her front door and swept us in—me, Lula, the three dogs. The dogs knew her and danced at her feet. She took us to her kitchen where she promptly fed the pugs cantaloupe and granola.

"Oh, they had breakfast, Mrs. Stewart," I told her.

"It's Olivia, sweetheart. And this is snackies, isn't it, guys. Yum? Do you want _yum_?"

The pugs replied, _Squeal. Squawk. Snuffle. Three big snorts_. All gone. They ran to the back door and she let them out.

She made us tea and offered warm cranberry scones, fresh from the oven. The kitchen smelled like sugar and vanilla and salt air. On one side of the big white room was an easel with a partly finished painting of the merest suggestion of a white beach, blue water, aqua sky. I suddenly realized that she was the artist of some of the paintings in Ranger's apartment.*

Apparently interested in us as people, she showed no hint of inquisitive rudeness, only asking if we enjoyed our stay and where we shopped. She showed us the all-white: "shades and textures study...like sand and dunes?" star quilt she was hand piecing, falling into a Twilight Zone riff with Lula over the use of silk and linen and velvet in the quilt, instead of just—something. Cotton? Who knew Lula could sew? Or cook, for that matter...

Olivia Stewart never said a word about our rings. She didn't ask about Anthony's injury. She never mentioned the rest of "her kids"— Anthony, Jilly, Nick, or Ranger. Or Jilly's children, her grandchildren.

She was warm and kind and untouchable. Unknowable. Idly I wondered who did her hair color, it was stunning. I especially liked the blob of white paint, the smudge of palest blue. It somehow made her even more perfect.

We finished our tea, took the old red Wrangler (dog hair: not allowed in Ranger's cars) back to Jilly's and got into Ranger's two immaculate, shiny black Mercedes.

... ... ...

**When we got to Trenton** I called Lula on her cell and reminded her that we would drop Ranger's car off then I'd take her home. I remembered that Ranger wanted her to go to the garage at Haywood Street-something about a surprise?

We drove down into the garage and pulled up by Ranger's personal cars. In the usual spot of his Mercedes was a new black customized Firebird with New Jersey vanity plates that said **LULA - 100**. Lula braked the Mercedes sedan and jumped out. I followed and we stood staring at the black Firebird. It had fancy custom rims, black tinted windows, a big red firebird painted on the hood and red pin-striping.

There was an envelope stuck on the windshield, Lula's name written on it in Ranger's familiar-to-me neat handwriting.

"Go on, open it," I said, smiling.

Lula's eyes were huge. She opened the envelope, read the note inside, said nothing, just passed it over to me. Big tears were plopping down her cheeks.

I said, "What? He wouldn't want you to cry!"

She just gestured at the note, then opened the door and sat inside. The seats were red leather and had that awesome new car leather smell. There were two sets of keys in the cup holder. She took them out and held them in her clenched fists.

I read:

_Lula,_

_Due to the fact that you are now engaged to Tank, it was decided that you should have a badass car too. I know you like red, but we only drive black. The custom red interior is a compromise. Thank you for bringing happiness to my friend, my brother…._

_R_

I smiled a little because he had written the note as formally as he knew how under the circumstances—instinctively keeping himself distant—yet he couldn't bring himself to sign it : _R C Manoso, CEO Rangeman_

I looked at Lula. She whispered, _"_Batman give _me_ a car. An amazing car. Why would he want to do that? He wrote me a note, me, Lula, the ex-ho, I must be dreaming…..I must be on drugs."

I reached down and hugged her tightly.

"I can't think of anyone who deserves it more. How about a test drive?"

"Fucking A."

And we roared out of the garage.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-one <strong>**~ _Another Day, Another Piece of Cake_**

**_._**

_[still Stephanie]_

_._

**A couple hours later** I watched Lula drive happily away in her new "baby". I promised Ranger I'd stay at the Haywood apartment while he was gone, but I needed to go back to my own place to get my things. Rex was already at Rangeman, being cared for by the guys on the fifth floor, but I was out of clothes and curl detangler. As I started my own new car from Ranger I mulled over all these gifts and arrangements and the conclusion I came to wasn't as wonderful as the gifts themselves.

When we talked on the beach last week, I didn't miss Ranger's slip when he said he wanted me to be here **if**-no, _when_ he returned. Ranger was, as usual, making sure everyone who mattered to him was taken care of. Just. in. case.

I swiped the tears out of my eyes and waved to the boys in the black Explorer who had followed me home. _No tears_, Anthony said. So I'll try...

... ... ...

**Unlike Anthony's mother, **my own mom wanted to see her children in person and at the dinner table at least once a week. After fielding a dozen nagging phone messages I told my mom I'd come for dinner on Thursday. That was pot roast and pineapple upside down cake night. I asked Ella that morning not to make my dinner. I was adjusting to having Ella's help but the constant level of service in Ranger's home was a real switch from my days of getting by, of going it alone. Ranger did not live a "make-do" lifestyle. Ranger lived well and he had people on board to make that happen.

At my parents' house that evening I set the table while mom made gravy. Everyone was seated, forks in hand, and I was just setting down the bowl of potatoes, when Valerie gasped and said loudly-well, yelled, "What is _that _!," pointing at the bowl I was holding.

"Yikes!" I set the potatoes down with a bang and jumped back. "What, what? Did you see a bug? What?"

Val was still pointing, open-mouthed. No one was swatting at a roach so I was confused. Not that mom would allow a bug in her house.

Mom looked back and forth, then down at my hand….Uh oh, I had forgotten to remove Ranger's rings before I left the office.

Mom said blissfully, "Oh Stephanie, Joseph finally gave you an engagement ring. Now you and Joseph will get married and…."

Valerie interrupted, "I don't think…."

Grandma looked closely at the rings, and said, "Those aren't Morelli rings! Those are …"

"From Ranger!" She and Val finished together.

Mom sat down hard in her chair. Dad was dumbstruck at the head of the table, not eating for once.

Momentary silence reigned.

I smiled to myself. Only Ranger could accomplish such a feat! _And he's not even here._

Grandma pulled my hand closer and inspected the rings. She said, "Yep! These here are from Ranger. No Morelli man would ever have the money or the taste to buy rings like this. These are beautiful, honey. Do you love him a lot? I'm so happy you finally worked it out. He's such a looker, that boy….and rich…those cars…the clothes, that voice, the smile, the body, the pa…."

Mom interrupted, "Is that true, Stephanie? You are engaged to that man? Or-married already?"

Dad said, "The black guy? The bounty hunter with the foreign cars?"

Seems like Ranger's cars made a big impression there.

"But Stephanie, he is not from the Burg, do you even know where he's from? He's not Italian. What about his family? He always has a gun…..What…?" from mom.

Grandma said, "Frank, I don't think he's black exactly, he's what do they call it now, multiracial?''

Valerie said, "He is very handsome."

Angie, Val's oldest daughter, said, "He _is_ hot, grandma." My mom nodded. She was maybe a little biased towards Italian men, but she wasn't blind. I wanted to giggle.

Mary Alice, the middle kid, said, ''At school we were told to say 'ethnically indeterminate'."

Geez. I was so glad Ranger wasn't here right now. I didn't know if he'd be offended but I had a hard time thinking of Ranger and ''indeterminate" in the same sentence.

Daddy said, "I meant he's always all dressed in black! What's with him and black, I ask you? I'm not stupid, Edna, I can see the boy is Puerto Rican or something, not African-American. Don't matter to me, he's not one of us."

"Daddy!" I whispered.

Valerie reached out and grabbed my wrist. She was still bug-eyed and she was whispering, ''You get a piece of _that_! You get to sleep with ….omigod, you are having sex with….._Ranger_..."

"Valerie Maria Plum! You mind how you talk," shrieked my mom.

Valerie and Grandma both let out tiny moans. I think Valerie and Grandma were having naked Ranger visions. Both were on the verge of drooling. Poor Ranger!

Kloughn said, "Aren't you scared of him? Will you need a pre-nup? I can do a pre-nup. I hear he's loaded but no one knows where he gets..."

"Stop!"

Okay, I did raise my voice. Everyone finally quit looking at the rings and focused on me.

I said, "Now that I have your attention. Yes, I am engaged to Ranger. He was going to be here with me to tell you, but he is away on business." _Saving the world_, I thought. "We will have a _very _small wedding, not sure where or when. It will _not_ be a big church wedding. _Not_ here in the Burg. Yes I have met some, not all, of his family. No I am not scared of him. No I don't need a prenuptial agreement, geez! And yes he is very handsome, hot, whatever.

"I love him very much. I don't care about the money or the ethnic stuff, I'm actually glad he is not an Italian guy from the Burg. I hope you will accept our relationship but if not, that's too bad, because he is the man I love and have loved for a long time."

I smiled at my grandmother. "You knew all along, didn't you? I remember you said so when I was sort of engaged to Joe, you said I had a thing for Ranger."

"I'm glad you found him, honey. He's a real studmuffin! And he loves you a lot, I could always tell. Such beautiful manners too, so polite, speaks so nice. Bet you never saw Joseph open a car door for a lady, like that Ranger always does. I tell you, Ellen, Steph found a real gentleman."

"Uh huh." _I was thinking of Ranger manhandling his FTAs into the police station._

"And he looks _good_ in black, Frank," she finished.

Angie was nodding. "He's hot, like I said." Was she only twelve?

Silence again, amazing. No words from mom or dad.

I finally said, "Ranger is a fine man. You can be proud to call him your son-in-law someday."

Dad said, "So he was in the military?"

I nodded. Maybe Army Special Forces was something dad could relate to, being that the car issue was a problem.

"Yes, dad, he was an Army ranger, served in..." Where? Ranger of course never says. Oh well: "Iraq. And you know, dad, he does buy foreign cars but he usually buys American trucks!"

"But, honey, they're Fords. Or Dodge Rams."

Everyone thought about that. Dad said, "If he makes you happy and treats you good, that's all that matters, princess.''

Valerie chimed in, with a glare at poor Albert, "So how much do you think rings like that cost?"

"You don't want to know, Val."

* * *

><p>tbc<p>

*not Ranger's apartment as described in book 17. Eeeew. Why would Ella choose bad art for him anyway?


	16. Chapter 22

Many many thanks for all the nice reviews and interesting PMs! I love hearing from everyone. Enjoy! sunny

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-two ~ <strong>_**I Snoop, So sue me**_

_**.**_

_[Stephanie]_

**Having survived yet another family circus,** I mean dinner, I was back in my cubby at Rangeman. Ranger had instructed me to open the files that pertained to the new cars and rings, saying I should be familiar with the information in case I ever needed it. I found and opened a file marked _Steph/ new_. It was not particularly hidden; I had a feeling I might need to search harder if I wanted to know Ranger's personal business. _Better wait until he tells me to look_, I thought, for once listening to the sensible part of my brain.

The _Steph/new_ file opened to sub-files: cars, mine and Lula's. Paid in full, cash wire transfer. Carlos Manoso. So much for Morelli's contention that Ranger's cars are stolen. DMV applications for vanity plates. Oh boy, was mine gonna say BABE? Paid invoices for the custom work on Lula's car. My Mercedes was factory/dealer preordered with all possible upgrades. I leaned closer, taking a second look. He spent WHAT? for that car…..oh, geez. Well into six figures.

Then the rings files: Lula's ring from Tiffany's. Sold to Thomas Sheridan; Deal, New Jersey. Paid for with his personal American Express Black card; Mid-six figures. Gulp. And assuming Thomas Sheridan is Tank, did Lula know he had a home in ritzy expensive Deal? Would she want to live there, even?

I told myself, _Not your business, Stephanie!_ And moved on.

My rings: the receipt said _Harry Winston, Fifth Avenue, NYC. _OK now we know where the guys got the rings. As Ranger had implied, he had begun purchasing the diamonds for me very soon after we met. Amazing. There were notations by the jeweler on the stones, the design, courtesy engraving. Each diamond had a gem certification and price, plus there was a total value given for both rings (three, actually, apparently there is a third "eternity band" that Ranger had not given me?), presumably for insurance purposes. The jeweler simply billed Ranger (as Carlos Manoso). The bills were then paid with bank wire transfers. There were insurance policies for everything, rings and cars.

Everything all entered neatly—dry and business-like. Yeah, right. Inside I was screaming, _Ranger gave me rings that cost this much! No way!_

Or, yes, way—because deep inside I knew he was making sure I (and Lula) would have financial security if anything happened to him/them. Or if there was an emergency. These glittering gems were another insurance policy, one he figured I might accept. They were also very tangible evidence of just how much he cared.

_He loves me_, I thought_, he does. He is trying to protect me._

The rings seemed far too costly to be wearing though, so now I had a dilemma. I also had a thought—the guys and their diamond ear studs, another way to always have an edge. Be prepared?

When I scrolled to the final page of the file, an email arrived. It beeped and was flashing, which was a feature Rangeman had for urgent communications. I opened it, surprised to see it was from Ranger and read:

rcm_rangeman[dot]com

to: sp_rangeman[dot]com (we have boring RM email names for security purposes, lol.)

Hey, babe,

I wrote this ahead of time and linked it to the Steph file.

I hope you like your rings and want to wear them. However after I picked up the engagement ring from HW I got to thinking it might not be appropriate for Wonder Woman when she is doing her street stuff, FTAs/ etc. And maybe you won't want your family to know about us until I can be with you to tell them (your call, babe).

_Too late for that plan, Ranger,_I thought with a small laugh. I continued to read:

In any event, I got you something to wear with, or instead. It's in my desk drawer.

I love you, babe.

ps I am sure I am fine or you'd have heard. Keep the faith, babe.

No signature, but how could I complain?

I looked back at the final file page that had triggered Ranger's message. The address was a gallery in SoHo, in lower Manhattan. It read: _Puzzle-titanium_/ _platinum/ 18K wh gold/ diamonds w/Custom msg_. Charged to Ranger's magic AmEx Black card. _Boy, he must have a hell of a credit rating. _Whatever he got—I so hoped it was not a gun!—it was expensive, mid-five figures.

_Well I __am__ intrigued now,_ I thought.

I closed all the files and went into Ranger's spacious office, flipping on the lights and sitting down at his big teakwood desk. His leather chair, like his cars, smelled just faintly of warm Ranger and Bulgari. I sat there in a daze for a couple minutes, missing him, wanting him, needing his warmth around me. Then I opened the center drawer, somewhat surprised to find his desk not locked.

Inside the (very, very neat) drawer I found a big manila envelope that said, _Steph_, in Ranger's writing. Inside was a tiny grey boutique-y shopping bag. Inside _that _was a bunch of pearl grey tissue wrapped around a tiny grey suede box. The little box itself was beautiful, clasped with a cabochon grey pearl set in silver or white gold.

_Oh thank god, the box is too small for a gun. Maybe a bullet though? No!_

After a moment. I opened the box. Inside was, as I'd expected, another ring. It was a slim and simple band of darkish metal similar to stainless steel, presumably titanium. There was one very beautiful, very small diamond set asymmetrically into the band. I picked it up, admiring. It definitely looked like Ranger-it had that scary gunmetal look about it.

But puzzle? Platinum and gold? I saw no evidence of anything but the single stone and the grey metal. Finally I flicked the diamond with my fingernail and the ring popped open into two halves held together by an invisible hinge. It was now like a figure eight. The interior that was revealed was amazing: tiny block letters separated by diamonds, all of which moved freely in the tiny grooves in the rings. It was like one of those kids' alphabet puzzles that used to come in birthday goody bags, but breathtakingly miniaturized. The tiny letters said (again):

**the truth is/ I love you babe**

_Oh …._

**Meanwhile my cell had been vibrating** but I hadn't picked up. Now Hector appeared in the doorway of Ranger's office with another cell phone in hand. Hector was one of the guys who had stayed behind. I had the idea he was more tech, less warrior, but I wasn't sure. He does have that teardrop on his face, after all.

He knocked lightly on the doorjamb and said, "Boss is on the phone, you didn't pick up."

He handed me his phone and disappeared.

Ranger on the phone? Now? ESP?

"Yo?"

He said, "Yo yourself."

"Where are you?"

Silence.

"Never mind!" I said hastily.

"Find your present, babe?"

"How did you know? Oh you have it tied to a computer you're accessing, I guess. Oh Ranger, it's wonderful. I've never seen anything like it. And it is perfect for street wear. How can I wear such expensive rings though—the engagement ring, Ranger? I love it, but…"

"But?"

"It looks like the ring of a woman whose husband will have her protected by bodyguards 24/7."

"Maybe not 24/7, babe, not when I'm there to guard your body myself."

"Ranger…"

"Babe, I told you—the rings are to remind you that I love you. And it is important to me that you have them. If you can't wear them sometimes because of where you're going, what you're doing, put them in the safe in my apartment.''

"How will I know the combination? I hope it's not your birthday since I don't know what that is?''

''You'll figure it out. Just a hint—it's not your birthday either.''

He was smiling, I could hear it in his voice.

''I love you, Ranger. I, um, miss you. Is that okay to say?"

"I love you, too, babe.''

''I know. I do know that. ''

''Good.''

''Try not to get shot, okay?''

''You too, babe.''

And he was gone. I sat there in his big comfy executive chair and the tears poured down my face.

_Where are you? Please come home…._The cell phone rang in my hand.

''Yes?''

Ranger said, ''No crying, babe.''

''How did you know! That little shit! Hector!''

And I flipped the phone shut and stormed out to yell at Hector.

The phone rang again and distracted me. I opened it and said, "Ooops?"

Because I'd hung up on Ranger!

"Babe."

Wherever he was, right now Ranger wass smiling, if only a little... ... ...

... ... ...

**It took me awhile but I finally figured** out that the combination was the date that Ranger and I met. That hot August day, in that grungy little diner.

tbc

* * *

><p>*They have flip phones because this story takes place a few years ago. Same reason the following action take place in the Middle East somewhere.<p>

* I know Stephanie's rings are very over the top...but maybe possible when buying very large old rare diamonds and having a jewller like Winston make the rings? Remember that diamonds go waaaay up in price when they get big, lol.

**I'll try to put the link for the puzzle ring in my file. These are real rings, you can have them custom made.


	17. Chapters 23, 24, epilog: The End

**Chapter Twenty Three** ~ _Breaking News, or the Million $$$$ Smile_

_. _

_[Stephanie]_

_._

**If it wasn't for recent events—**rings, love, cars and commitment from hottest man on the planet—I would feel like a real loser.

My name is Stephanie Plum and here I was spending another Saturday night with my parents and a roast chicken.

No way my mom would let me miss her roast chicken. And with Ranger still out of town, out of country?— what else did I have to do? We were sitting around having cake and coffee after washing the dinner dishes. Daddy and Grandma were watching CNN again. My cell phone played Lula's ringtone.

"Omigod, omigod, white girl. You gotta see CNN, turn it on quick." Lula was babbling, practically incoherent.

Grandma was squealing in the living room by now and I heard Dad say, "What the f…?"

I ran into the living room just as Anderson Cooper said, "We are back with breaking news! Today the state department issued an OK for CNN to show an exclusive bootleg tape of the heroic rescue of Ambassador Dixon and his family and staff. As the world now knows, earlier this week US Special Forces troops were deployed for what many military experts considered a suicide mission, infiltrating deep into hostile territory to perform this amazing rescue."

I thought, _Suicide mission?_

"These troops used sniper fire and SWAT assault tactics to free the hostages. Apparently one of the soldiers involved had a video cell phone and made an amateur movie of the final moments of the undercover mission. The tape came to us here at CNN already censored. It appears that this was done to protect the military personnel involved. CNN and other news agencies have agreed not to try to unscramble these shots. We were told that it is imperative that these men's identities remain unknown. They are considered covert soldiers, highly secret, even Black Ops. The phrases Joint Operations Special Forces, and even Delta Force have been whispered.

"Other sources have hinted that—incredible as it may seem—this was actually a _non-military mercenary team._ But that remains unconfirmed. Now tonight we are very proud to show you-our-viewers this film of our American military heroes in action."

Lula was still yelling in my ear. She said, "There was a clip. A trailer, before. Wait till you seeeeeeeeee!"

Ow, my ears.

My eyes were glued to the TV set. The scene opened. No soundtrack? Desert-ish landscape, not rural but not urban as we in Trenton know urban. Big house that looked partially bombed. Men milling around; cammo pants, black t-shirts, Kevlar military armor vests, big guns.

Different angle shot:

Two men leaning against a shiny new black Hummer H2 (not a Humvee). They both wore loose fitting light desert camouflage cargo pants and tight black sleeveless tee shirts. Really nice biceps, assault weapons held casually at waist level. High top desert hiking boots, pants legs tucked in, GI Joe style.

Closer view:

Mirrored shades, camouflage bush hats with one side turned up, chin strings hanging down their backs. Military metal dog tags, with the rubber bumper edges for silence. Dark mocha latte skin, slight stubble beards. Diamond stud rap star earrings. Amazingly the two men's _faces_ were not blanked out. Only some areas on the sides of the hats and on the guns were obscured by the censoring scramble. I guess these guys knew who and what they were, no traditional rank markings needed. And whoever did the censoring must have thought the sunglasses and hats were sufficiently disguising. (_Ranger and Nick_)

Another man walked into view. He was wearing long, baggy camouflage shorts, low slung with the top of his Hawaiian flowered boxers showing surfer style. His khaki tee shirt was cut off short and white bandages showed near his waist, but he walked easily and did not appear badly injured. He carried a scoped sniper rifle in his hand. His face wasn't visible, it was a back view. There was a scrambled section across the butt of his shorts, and again at his lower back, maybe to obscure writing on his shorts and some identifying mark—a tattoo?— on his lower back. He turned and we saw that he was suntanned and he too wore diamond ear studs and Oakley sunglasses. He wore a khaki baseball hat, the writing on the front blacked out. (I knew that hat, it just said ARMY and came from Lids at the mall…..I smiled.) (_Anthony_)

The door to the house opened and the ambassador and his family were escorted out. They were flanked by two really big, even huge black guys, dressed similarly to the other men. A third man was carrying the smallest child in his arms. He was lighter skinned, same clothes, sunglasses, earrings. All were heavily armed. No one was really dressed in exactly real US Army uniform, but they looked imposing and scary and competent, and very American. Our heroes. (_Tank, Bobby_, _Lester_)

The rescued family was escorted to a waiting military [?] helicopter. The identifying tail numbers and possibly military markings on the helicopter were censored but a grey on black Stars and Stripes on its side was not obscured. The chopper pilot tucked everyone in then leaned out the open cargo bay, smiled, waved, thumbs up, then the V sign. For Victory? For peace? The pilot was a slim and blonde, maybe mid-twenties. Her face was censored almost entirely, but we could see her long blonde hair and her cropped tee shirt baring 6 inches of tanned, toned belly between its hem and her low slung cammo cargo pants. The scrambling wavered briefly as if the person doing the blackout didn't quite know what to mask off, so we the viewers got glimpses of very pretty boobs/ no bra, then belly button with diamond stud, then a flash of her bright, happy Miss America/cheerleader smile saying _Hi mom!_ And she was gone. (_Jilly_)

Everyone on the ground casually saluted her except one guy by the Hummer who blew her a kiss. The helicopter receded into the hot blue sky.

The boy in the camouflage shorts joined the other men by the black H2. He turned and faced the camera, smiled. The shot was from waist up and all of America could read his uncensored t-shirt front, which read: _TIKI GOLF-You putt 'em, I shoot 'em. AandF 1999_. (Anthony. You need to ask?)

_Oh boy. Oh! Boy!_

The men by the H2 turned to get into the car. The one guy, the driver, the leader?—paused and looked over the hood of the huge shiny SUV directly into the camera lens. Almost a close up. He pushed his hat off, exposing short dark hair. Big smile. Stunning smile. Really gorgeousheart pounding, heart breaking, fabulous, beautiful white teeth, very familiar if rarely seen...let's just say unforgettable— really big smile. All thousand watts, all million bucks.

Pause, close up while—despite wearing sunglasses— he made eye contact with the camera, and the TV viewers of the world. Then he ducked into his shiny black Hummer. (Ranger)

And he was gone.

Static. The end. The whole film had lasted maybe 2 or 3 minutes.

I knew that smile, that face. 'Omigod' did not come close.

Lula was saying, "Did ya see? Did ya see? That was Tank, that was Ranger, and, and, and all the guys….Omigod! Oh. my. freakin'. god!"

My cell beeped call waiting and I read the number in disbelief.

"Yo," I said, playin' it _so_ cool.

"Yo yourself." A Ranger pause. "Did you watch TV tonight?"

"I know I've said this before but you are such a show off!" [Hard Eight?]

"Babe."

"That looked like an R-rated internet ad for Abercrombie and Fitch! What a bunch of hotties! Are you out of your mind? When they unscramble the writing on your clothes is it gonna say Rangeman? What happened to low profile?"

I was squeaking almost as bad as Lula.

"Hey, babe, it was your idea. You said I had a million dollar smile. So I'm a mercenary, what can I say. I told the government, let's make a deal, pay or play. So in the interest of saving tax dollars they decided to play….Means money in the bank for me, for all of us. Free enterprise.''

I could tell he was smiling even over the phone. He was actually, what? Gleeful. Talkative! So pleased with his games. What a _guy_.

I said, "You guys looked so hot. _You_ looked so hot! It was amazing. _Love_ the black H2, very Rangeman. Oh and I liked the home movie bootleg part. That was so totally professionally filmed, edited, and choreographed. "

"No, babe. Hal really did film it on his cell. He's good. Then, you know, we did some enhancing and editing. Plus the censoring part. We decided not to add music, too obvious. Great publicity though, almost as good as a 30-second spot during the Super Bowl."

His voice put quotes around the word censor. Anyone who knew him, or any of the guys, not to mention Jilly, would recognize them instantly. I laughed about the soundtrack. I'd had the same idea. Oh well too bad.

''Are you worried about being recognized?''

''Nah. No one except people who know us anyway will figure it out.''

_Yeah, right._

"And future clients when we re-broadcast it back at the office," he finished calmly.

... ...

**My family was torn between watching** the anchorman rehash the tape as it was played over and over and staring at me.

I said to Ranger, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, babe. I'm good. We're all good. Antonio needed to see the docs at the hospital but he'll be fine."

"...Will you be home soon?"

"Yeah. I gotta go, babe. I love you."

I said, "I love you too." To a dead phone because of course he had already disconnected. I switched back to Lula, but she now had me on hold. Probably talking to Tank. Wherever the guys were now, their personal cells were functioning just fine. Though Rangeman probably issued cell phones with international connection capability now that I thought about it. Maybe interplanetary. This is Ranger, after all.

I actually giggled, I think.

As I left the living room, I heard Grandma say, "I could swear that guy was Ranger. What's he doing in Iraq? Doesn't he have a business to run?"

And Dad said, "Oh fer chrissakes, Edna, get a grip."

I wondered if that meant he knew it was Ranger and his crew or did he think grandma was nutty? I was still reeling, part laughing, part stunned. And so happy to see Ranger alive, well, and yes—happy.

Even if it was on CfuckingNN.

With the whole world watching.

My cell rang again. Ugh, Joe this time. He was yelling of course, what did I expect.

''Cupcake, did you see Ranger and his crew just now on CNN? I don't believe it! That lowlife thug is now a national hero? He's some kind of Black Ops soldier? That's maybe worse than being a gunrunner and mercenary. And what the fuck were they wearing? Fucking earrings? And a stolen H2? I can't believe it. He's got some kinda nerve, that guy. You'd be better off with me. At least you'd be safe. I'd never do something so crazy. Please listen to me, Cupcake!''

Joe was squeaking too, just like Lula. I smiled. "Joe, listen to yourself. Ranger is a hero. He is not a lowlife. So what if he wears earrings? The president is probably going to give him a medal. You're the one with some nerve! I suggest in the future you keep your opinions—not to mention Ranger's identity—to yourself."

And I disconnected. Still in a daze I walked out to my car—well, okay, Ranger's Porsche because I was scared to drive the Mercedes sports car he'd given me for an engagement present—what if it got blown up! I just wanted to go home to Ranger's cool, quiet apartment and record the replay of the CNN film. Or maybe the guys would have their own version? Uncensored? What _did_ their pants say, anyway? Like the rest of America I was dying to know.

And I foresaw a national fad for cami cargos, mirrored Oakley shades and diamond rapper-style earrings. Not to mention shiny, new, black SUVs. And maybe black Porsche 911 Turbos?

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-four<strong>~ _The Crowd Went Wild_

.

**_a few days later... _**_[still Stephanie]_

**I was back at Pino's with Morelli.** He wanted info as usual, but the TVs at the bar were playing the CNN tape of the "suicide" rescue mission. Over and over and over. I don't think anyone in the US would soon tire of seeing Ranger in his desert combat pants and diamond earrings, smiling over the hood of his big/ black/ shiny/new Hummer H2, assault rifle in hand. Our hero.

Joe's attention and mine kept slipping back to the TV screen. Everyone else in Pino's was enthralled too and I was willing to bet that almost everyone in the room knew the identity of the guys on the film. Disc, whatever...

Finally a commercial came on and Joe turned his eyes to me. He reached out for my hand and said softly, "So—how are you holding up, Cupcake?"

"Fine, Joe."

He ran his thumb down my hand even as I was trying to politely disengage. His thumb ran aground on my rings from Ranger.

"What's this? You never wear rings, Steph."

He looked at our joined hands.

"Holy shit!" He dropped my hand like it was on fire.

"You never gave me a ring to wear, Joe, did you?"

"Geez, that's not a ring—that's the Rock of Gibraltar. Is it fucking real, look at the size of those stones. Manoso coulda bought himself his own Third World country if those stones were real.''

His voice was getting loud.

"Do you think Ranger would give me fake diamonds, Joe?" My voice was calm and soft. He took his eyes off my ring and finally made eye contact.

''Is that why you chose him, Steph? Shit. I couldn't buy you even one of those stones. That ring is worth more than I'll make in a lifetime. Ten lifetimes."

"The ring is special to me because Ranger had it made for me, but the difference between him and you isn't the price of an engagement ring, or even the fact that he bought the diamonds right after he met me and waited patiently all those years for me to come to him. Or that he thought enough of me to give me a ring and you couldn't be bothered.

"No, I chose Ranger because he loves me, Joe. He loves the person I am, not some myth in his mind. He's a fine man and I love him. I trust him and I respect him. The ring is just—the frosting on the cake."

"He's a rich man, Cupcake. You think your life is gonna be one long piece of cake, don't you? Better living through criminal activity! The guy is a mercenary, a thug."

_Geez, Joe, you just have no clue, do you…? _

OK, Ranger would be the first to call himself a mercenary too, but we all know better, don't we?

Joe's voice got louder and he yelled, "I'm seeing your head turned by a lowlife criminal with a lot of unexplained cash, Steph. How the hell do you think you know what that guy wants. He works outside the law, he's a felon. Is he gonna visit you in prison?"

Another reason to choose Ranger—he never, ever yells.

I said nothing, just looked past Joe's shoulder to where CNN was _again_ rerunning the president's press conference praising the heroic "soldiers" who rescued the US Ambassador, his wife and four little kids, and the entire embassy staff.

Then from behind me I heard, "Babe?" even as the tiny hairs rose on my neck.

I jumped up and threw myself into his arms. "Omigod! You're here.''

The restaurant erupted into applause and whistles and shouts. For our engagement. And for the heroes on the CNN tape, now playing again behind Ranger's head.

Ranger nodded coolly in acknowledgement and smiled a little.

My legs were still around his waist, his warm arms held me tight, he smelled like Ranger and Bulgari. His hair was very short and spiky, not his lovely long hair, but his eyes were deep and dark and beautiful as always, warm and loving as he met my gaze. He looked wonderful, alive and happy. He smiled into my eyes, his prettiest white megawatt smile.

_Crash_, a pitcher smashed when dropped from awe-struck fingers. Thud, someone tripped or walked into a wall. Another crash of glass as his smile widened into laughter….Geez.

Oh god. He was home. Safe. Alive.

He tightened his arms around me and bent his head into a kiss—his special, patented Ranger kiss, first soft and loving, maybe a tiny nuance of questioning or greeting (_remember me, the guy who loves you? are you okay? do you want this? do you love me?_)—then hot, deep, serious—_yes_. Then more. I lost awareness of the roomful of people. I knew only the man so close against me. The kiss went on and on.

The crowd went wild.

* * *

><p><strong>Epilog<strong>

**Ranger finally set me down **and I looked past his shoulder into Anthony's dark chocolate Ranger eyes. Ranger let me go and I walked into Anthony's careful hug, the care for his injuries not because I'm some fragile flower. He held me for a few long moments; he didn't kiss me. Like Ranger, Anthony is big and hard and smells wonderful... And like Morelli, his hands ran down my wrists to my fingers and when he felt the rings, maybe he froze for an impossibly short instant. He looked into my eyes and he smiled a little.

Ranger called to Tony Pino, "Beer on the house, man. Put it on my tab."

"Corona and lime, dude," said Anthony.

**Oh yeah. By the way:** the butts of their camouflage cargo pants were stenciled US MILITARY-JOSF. I am told that stands for Joint Operations Special Forces. So maybe the guys are more legit than I thought. Or, um, maybe not. Maybe the so-called _Joint_ Ops was Rangeman joining up with the US military. Because the grey on black US Stars and Stripes, seen on the helicopter is the identifying logo of RMPMC*, Ranger's off -shore operation. And the black t-shirts had the grey flag and the letters RMPMC-USA.

Needless to say, Ranger never did explain it.

Not really.

We kept getting distracted.

The things that man can do with his lips…_sigh_.

And the President _did_ give the guys medals. It was top secret…..but let me just leave you with this picture: Ranger in an Army officer's full-dress uniform….

_Nah._

**The end.**

[and, yeah, yeah- - -we lived happily ever after, you had to ask, right?]

*RMPMC = Rangeman Private Military Corporation

* * *

><p>Hi everyone! I hope you enjoyed this story. Some things may seem "out of date": the Hummer, the flip phones, Iraq,some technology...Pls remember that this story took place quite a few years ago, even in my mercenary Ranger world and are chronologically corect for the time. Reviews are like gold! I love them, thank you to eevryone who wrote a PM or review, and thank you all for reading.<p>

I'll give everyone time to catch up and finish this then I hope to post a short follow up fic in a couple weeks, if you'd all enjoy that?

love

sunny


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